


different class

by greatcatsbys



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M, common people is its own tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:28:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 34,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25695052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greatcatsbys/pseuds/greatcatsbys
Summary: Tseng feels less like a person having fun than a person undercover, infiltrating a window into how the other half live.(an university AU, loosely based off pulp's 'common people')
Relationships: Rufus Shinra/Tseng
Comments: 60
Kudos: 136





	1. disco 2000

**Author's Note:**

> look, sometimes your pal posts a twitter thread about a FFVII university AU, and then sometimes you make a joke about pulp, and then sometimes the next thing you know you've planned a multi chapter fic loosely based around the core concept of common people
> 
> enjoy

The sheer excess is _staggering._

Tseng looks around at awnings draped in gold, at fountains and pyramids of glasses. He’s greeted at the door with a flute of champagne, by waiters in suits that are sharper than his own. Tseng’s suit is too big on the shoulders, and hopes nobody will notice. He feels less like a person having fun than a person undercover, infiltrating a window into how the other half live.

‘You have to go at least _once_ ,’ Elena had said to him, laughing down the phone. ‘What’s the point of going somewhere like Cambridge if you’re not going to be a cunt for at least one night?’

And, well, here he is, fuelled by champagne that likely costs more than his student loan. He’s paid an obscene amount for entry, and he plans on making back every penny through alcohol consumption alone. Tseng knocks back his first glass, ignores the waiter’s judgemental expression as he picks up another. _Consider it redistribution of wealth_ , he thinks to himself with a smile. 

He needs at least two drinks before the main hall is even to be considered. Crowds of students jump and scream in time, clutching bottles and inflatables and, always inexplicably, traffic cones. The room is loud and bass pulses through the floor, a jarring contrast to the walls of roaring twenties gold. Girls dance in louche glamorous dresses in a way that Tseng finds frankly intimidating, until he feels his head lighten, grows a spine of liquid confidence.

Thankfully, he recognises a few people from his course by the bar, makes small-talk and even dances for a little while. One of them laughs, jokes about how stiff Tseng is, but he’s light-headed enough to laugh along, allows people to take him by the waist and twirl him round. He’s not been drunk-drunk for a long time, and it sits nicely on him, the usual tension in his shoulders evaporating.

People disappear to the bathroom to do lines, and a girl grabs Tseng by the collar, drags him along. Tseng laughs, shakes his head, remembers a terrible night in second year that ended in him crying and falling asleep outside the library. He is hardly a twenty-four-hour party person.

Instead, he slips out through the fire door, heads to the green outside by the river. 

The night air feels nice, blows through his hair and sobers his skin. There are a few people smoking down by the river, a few that look half-asleep. Tseng holds his jacket tight against himself, considers texting Elena so she can laugh at his big night, but it’s around two-am and he’s not quite that selfish. 

In the distant trees, he sees a flash of white, a person teetering perilously close to the water. Tseng sprints across the green, seizes them by the arm; briefly thinks _who the fuck wears a white suit to a black tie event_?

When Tseng realises who it is, he choke-laughs in surprise. Of _course._

Tseng immediately recognises him. Rufus Shinra is truly the Biggest Name On Campus, his father’s money responsible for half the architecture in Cambridge. Rufus is _famous_ famous, in a national news kind of way; often pouting in the background of his father’s interviews, stumbling out of bars in Mayfair. Tseng’s never seen him in person before, has only seen him in photos on the Tab at charity fashion shows, on nights out with the university rugby team. The photos don’t capture him well. He’s less manicured in person, more rugged and compelling.

The white suit suddenly makes a lot more sense. 

‘You alright there?’ Tseng asks, in spite of himself.

Rufus straightens up slowly, looks Tseng up and down as if he’s assessing his breeding.

‘Just peachy,’ he says, and Christ, his voice really is Eton-lite. If Tseng closed his eyes, he could quite easily manifest an image of David Cameron in front of him.

‘You don’t look well,’ Tseng says. 'You want some water or something?'

‘Water sounds spectacular,’ Rufus says, and Tseng nods, wonders why he's feeling so helpful all of a sudden. It's definitely nothing to do with the fact that photos don't do Rufus' face any justice, that his blue eyes glint in the half-light in a way that makes Tseng want to stare. If Rufus could only keep his mouth shut, Tseng might actually _enjoy_ the view.

‘So why don’t I know you?’

_Do you know everyone?_ Tseng thinks, before realising that somebody like Rufus Shinra probably _does_.

‘Not my sort of thing, usually,’ Tseng says.

‘Hm,’ Rufus says, smirks. ‘I can tell. Your suit doesn’t fit.’

Tseng scowls at him.

‘Not everyone knows a tailor.’

‘Evidently.’

‘You know, you can go get your own water if you want –‘

‘Oh, don’t _go_ ,’ Rufus whines, drapes his arms around Tseng’s shoulders. ‘I tease rough.’

Tseng grimaces at the touch, at the smell of Rufus’ breath. Notes of champagne and whiskey with wine-stained lips – Christ, for a short dude he can really knock it back. 

They stand like that for a while, Rufus dangling light-headed from his shoulders, Tseng trying his best not to scowl. He feels acutely aware of how far from the lights of college they are, how nobody would notice if Rufus’ ragdoll body fell into his.

‘You have lovely hair,’ Rufus positively coos, nestles his face into Tseng’s shoulder.

‘Um, thank you? Just don’t be sick in it,’ Tseng says, standing awkwardly as Rufus laughs into him, runs his hands through Tseng’s neat ponytail.

‘I’m going to pull it.’

‘Please don’t –‘

Rufus pulls Tseng’s ponytail, exposing the long lines of his throat. Tseng bites his lip, shifts uncomfortably.

‘What are you doing?’

‘I told you,’ Rufus says, moves uncomfortably close. ‘I tease rough.’

Even Tseng with his useless champagne-brain can tell this is _flirting_. Tseng stands tentatively, unsure of what to do with his hands.

‘That wasn’t an answer -‘

‘I’m _seducing_ you,’ Rufus says, pupils dilating, ‘because you’re here, and I’m horny.’

Rufus tightens his grasp on Tseng’s hair, moves to kiss delicately at the skin above Tseng’s collar.

‘You smell like a minibar,’ Tseng says stiffly, wills himself not to moan at the sensation. ‘I’m not interested.’

‘Now, I don’t think _that’s_ true,’ Rufus says, rubs his thigh into Tseng’s crotch. ‘I mean, look at you. You’re definitely not straight.’

‘Doesn’t mean I’d do anything with _you_ , though,’ Tseng says.

‘Uh, why not?’ Rufus pouts. ‘Have you _seen_ me?’

‘Posh boys aren’t my _type_ ,’ Tseng hisses, tries his best to keep his breath even. Rufus Shinra is every aspect of the Cambridge experience that he hates, wrapped up into a pretty fucking package. He’d be lying if he didn’t see some power in all of this.

‘Don’t cut your nose off to spite your face,’ Rufus says, rubs a persistent hand against Tseng’s cock. ‘The whole chip on the shoulder thing? _Really_ does it for me.’

‘God, you’re awful,’ Tseng says, grabs Rufus’ silk lapels. ‘I think you need to shut up.’

Rufus grins.

‘That’s more like it.’

Tseng pulls him into a kiss, fists his hands into Rufus’ hair as their teeth clank together, drunk and clumsy. Rufus is unbelievably loud, moans into Tseng’s mouth and shudders at the slightest touch. He pulls Tseng’s hair back, sucks bruises above his collar, tries his best to undo Tseng’s bowtie with his free hand. Tseng laughs despite himself as Rufus’ fingers keep slipping through the fabric.

‘Come here,’ Tseng says, undoes his bowtie as Rufus sucks at his neck, bites Tseng’s ear gently. It’s been far too long since Tseng’s made out with anyone and he’s mindful of every touch, every sensation, and tries his best to stay aloof, to give away no sense of enjoyment.

Rufus, however, has no such pretence. He moans into Tseng like he’s the last man on earth, pushes off Tseng’s jacket and clumsily starts to unbutton his shirt. Rufus is rough with the buttons, which instinctively stresses Tseng out; the suit’s a rental, not his own. 

Tseng responds by pulling off Rufus’ jacket, unbuttoning his shiny, ostentatious waistcoat. There’s something oddly satisfying about roughing up Rufus’ expensive clothes and dropping them into the dirty grass, but Tseng doesn’t have much time to unpack any of that before he feels Rufus’ hands at his belt.

‘So, what do you want – _oh_ ,’ Tseng says, as Rufus drops to his knees. ‘Okay.’

Rufus is quick to pull Tseng’s trousers down, breathes hot and heavy against the fabric of Tseng’s underwear. Tseng’s breath hitches as there’s a rush of cold air, and Rufus takes Tseng’s cock into his mouth.

‘Oh Christ –‘ Tseng murmurs, because even in his relatively limited experience, he knows Rufus is _good_. Rufus sucks the head of Tseng’s cock, strokes the shaft with a soft hand, before taking him deeper into his mouth, flicking his tongue in a way that makes Tseng audibly moan.

Rufus pulls his mouth away, grinning.

‘So you’re not made of stone, then.’

‘Shut _up,_ ’ Tseng says, seizes a fistful of Rufus’ hair. The effect is instantaneous, Rufus melting in his hands. Tseng tentatively guides Rufus back towards his cock by the hair, and Rufus nods eagerly, taking Tseng back into his mouth.

_Well,_ Tseng thinks. He hadn’t realised this would be _quite_ such a powerplay.

Rufus works Tseng for all he’s worth, hollows his cheeks and takes him down to the hilt. Tseng whines high in his throat, knows he won’t last if Rufus keeps this up, but he’s dizzy and champagne-light and wants _so_ desperately to come. 

‘Can I –‘ Tseng asks, and Rufus looks up at him, nods.

Tseng finishes in Rufus’ mouth, light-headed and panting. Rufus smiles as he pulls away, sticks his tongue out as evidence.

‘Jesus,’ Tseng says, mind still reeling from the last five minutes or so. For a moment, Tseng is inclined to ask Rufus _where’d you learn to do that_ , the way people do in movies; but then remembers the answer is probably Eton and so thinks better of it. ‘What just happened?’

‘I just rocked your world,’ Rufus says, laughing, and stands up shakily.

His clean white suit has grass stains at the knees. Tseng can’t help but smirk.

‘You’re certainly not short of confidence.’

‘My confidence is earned,’ Rufus grins, chin jutting forward proudly, and Tseng raises his hands in defeat, because to be fair to him he’s not _wrong_. ‘So what now?’

‘What _now_?’ Tseng echoes. ‘I mean – I was just going to head back to college.’

‘Well, that seems like a waste,’ Rufus says, places a hand in Tseng’s hair. ‘Where are you based?’

‘Homerton.’

Rufus stares at Tseng as if he’s spoken a foreign language.

‘Where’s _that_?’

‘Edge of town.’

‘You are _not_ walking back to Homotown, come on now.’ Rufus says, laughing. ‘My room is literally over there.’

Rufus points up above the clock tower, at a high bay window overlooking the entirety of King’s. Tseng briefly wonders what the view’s like from there, wonders what it must be like to wake up to the view of spires every morning.

He’s already been sucked off by Rufus Shinra. The least he can do is return the favour.

‘Why not,’ Tseng says, allows a smile to brush his lips. ‘Closer to the library, anyway.’

‘That’s the spirit,’ Rufus says flatly. ‘Oh, I’m Rufus, by the way.’

For the first time all evening, Tseng properly _laughs_.

‘What?’

‘Yeah, I _know_ ,’ Tseng crows. ‘Everyone knows you.’

‘Oh,’ Rufus says, looks mildly deflated. ‘You didn’t say.’

‘I didn’t think you wanted me to,’ Tseng says, honestly, and Rufus looks at him with a puzzled expression. ‘Anyway, I’m Tseng.’

‘Tseng,’ Rufus says, rolls the syllable round his mouth. ‘Pleased to make your acquaintance.’

‘That’s very polite foreplay,’ Tseng says quietly. ‘Don’t forget your jacket.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> based off es' twitter thread [here](https://twitter.com/no1zakkurafan/status/1286357255542185984?s=19)
> 
> this has been a lot of fun to write so far! while it's mostly light hearted, we're gonna get into the machinations of the shinra family and (jarvis cocker voice) Class Politics. so if that's your sort of thing, welcome on board!


	2. underwear

Sun streams through the windows of Rufus’ palatial room at King’s. Tseng opens his eyes, and briefly wants to die. 

His head is in absolute agony, a dull throbbing behind his eyes that is loud and persistent and makes the light burn his insides. He swears he wasn’t that drunk - but then he remembers climbing the stairs to Rufus’ room and Rufus opening a new bottle of wine and Rufus fucking him like he's the last man on earth. _Well_ , Tseng thinks. _That'd do it._

The sheets are mussed and Tseng realises he’s alone in bed. He curses as he fumbles for his phone, looking for the time - and _shit,_ it’s already 11.30. Once upon a time he’d had grand designs to go to the library today, but with the morning wasted and feeling like something’s died inside his skull, it doesn’t bode well for him. 

Tseng heaves himself out of bed, sifts through a pile of black and white clothing for his underwear, his trousers. He hears humming from the en-suite, the sound of running water, and Tseng assesses the situation as quick as his addled brain can. If he’s quick, he can slip out unnoticed. Tseng pulls on his trousers, picks the shirt that feels the scratchiest. Jacket next - but it’s not on the floor, _where_ is his sodding jacket -

The water stops, and Tseng pauses instinctively, stares like a deer in headlights as the bathroom door opens.

‘Oh,’ Rufus says, smiling, and immediately leans against the door, nude, lounging like a Greek statue. ‘Good _morning._ ’

God, his _voice_. It should be a criminal offence to put that face and body with a voice so cloying, Tseng thinks.

‘Morning,’ Tseng says, tries to keep his eyes chastely lowered. 

‘Where are you scampering off to?’

‘Just college,’ Tseng says. ‘Didn’t realise what time it was.’

‘You’re not hungover?’ Rufus asks, and _Christ almighty_ it’s hard to concentrate with Rufus’ dick hanging out.

‘A little,’ Tseng lies, fiddles with the buttons on his shirt. ‘Can you, like -‘

‘What?’ Rufus asks suggestively, shifts his legs apart.

‘Like, put some pants on?’

‘Oh,’ Rufus says, scowling quietly. ‘You didn’t mind last night.’

‘Last night was - something,’ Tseng says diplomatically. ‘And as nice as it’d be to stay for another round, I’ve got plans.’

‘Stone cold,’ Rufus says, with a smirk. ‘At least give me your number.’

Tseng sighs.

‘Look, Rufus, I don’t really - do this. Dating, or whatever.’

‘Who said shit about dating?’ Rufus says, leans down to pick up Tseng’s tie from the floor, moves forward to drape it around Tseng's neck. ‘That’s _your_ word, not mine.’

‘I didn’t mean anything by it -‘

‘Course not,’ Rufus says, and winks. ‘If you’re so desperate to take me out, why don’t you include me in your plans for today?’

‘You’re certainly persistent,’ Tseng says.

‘That wasn’t a no.’

‘I think you’d be pretty bored.’

‘Try me.’

‘I’m literally just going to the supermarket and then back to college until I feel more like a human that exists in the world.’

‘I knew it,’ Rufus grins, strokes his hand through Tseng’s hair. ‘You should have said you felt wretched. We’ll get brunch instead.’

Tseng shifts uncomfortably, dreads to think how much a Rufus Shinra-worthy brunch costs.

‘Oh, don’t give me that look. It’ll be fun,’ Rufus says, oblivious. ‘Hop in the shower and I’ll get ready.’

Tseng hesitates. As much as he knows he should hurry up and leave this night behind him, he has a morbid curiosity as to what a day out with Rufus Shinra looks like.

‘Trust me,’ Rufus says. ‘Shower. It’ll sober you up.’

Tseng smiles wryly.

‘There’s just no saying _no_ to you, is there?’

Rufus hums delicately, shrugs his shoulders.

‘Fine,’ Tseng says. ‘But I don’t have any spare clothes.’

‘Leave that to me,’ Rufus says, with a devious smile that Tseng should probably be more worried about. 

Tseng retreats into the bathroom, an en-suite that he quickly determines is bigger than his entire bedroom at college. He sits down on the toilet, reaches his phone from his pocket and flicks through his messages.

_T!!!! how was your night_

_have you fuckin died?? are u gettin laid_

_if it’s the latter maybe don’t text back during. thats rude_

Tseng snorts at his missed messages from Elena, types back:

_I’m alive, barely. You won’t fucking believe what happened_

There are dots as he waits for a furious Elena reply. Instead, the group chat pings up, the one with Elena, Reno and Rude where the three of them largely share memes and Tseng replies with an encouraging emoji or two.

_T GOT LAID_

_yesssssssssss bitch_ , comes a reply from Rude, a quick _top shagger_ from Reno.

_Lena I fucking hate you right now,_ Tseng replies, burying his face in his hands. _I’ll call you later_

Tseng sighs, puts his phone to one side and undresses. He tries his best to ignore the persistent buzzing from his phone as he turns the shower on, marvels at how any university student gets a rain-head shower in their bathroom. He pulls a hair tie from his wrist, shoves his hair up in a messy bun to save a five-minute shower from becoming a forty-minute event. 

He steps under the water, feels his body relax. Christ, what is he _doing?_ Every fibre of his being feels uncomfortable being here, but there’s something about Rufus that’s charming, his eyes magnetic. Tseng feels as if he has crossed a line into another world very briefly, forbidden and entrancing. 

Tseng finishes up quickly, towels his body dry and glances at his phone again, snorts loudly at the messages.

_top shagger_

_top shagger_

_top shagger_

He really will kill Elena later.

Tseng opens the bathroom door, covers himself as best he can with the towel, feeling strangely bashful despite himself. Rufus is shaving by an ornate, Art Deco mirror; on the bed are a pair of chinos, plaid shirt and gilet. Tseng balks.

‘Are - are those -‘

‘Yes, they’re yours,’ Rufus says, and Tseng cannot remotely stop the grimace from reaching his features. ‘They’re the longest trousers I have, and even then you might have to wear them like capris.’

‘Mm-hm,’ Tseng says, tight-lipped. A gilet, and capri pants. If he didn’t already feel as if he were undercover, he certainly does now. ‘Thank you.’

‘Don’t mention it,’ Rufus says, waves a noncommittal hand. ‘You’ll want to hurry, though. The car will be here in fifteen.’

Tseng’s jaw falls open.

‘The _what_?’

—

Rufus’ driver is an older man, who he calls Veld. He wears driving gloves and a suit, has an expression sharp enough to kill. Tseng feels on edge, wonders if driving is a cover for something more sinister. The thought is laughable, and Tseng dismisses it as soon as it appears. Despite Tseng feeling wholly disguised in his new outfit, this isn’t a spy movie.

Looking over at him bored and pouting, Tseng finds it easy to forget that he’s sat next to one of the richest people in the country, if not the world. The Shinra company is as close to synonymous to modern capitalism as a company can be, revolutionising nuclear power to fuel every household. Yet, here Rufus is next to him, tapping his foot, cardigan draped around his shoulders. From here, he looks almost normal. Well-groomed, but normal.

‘We’re stopping at Midsummer’s,’ Rufus says, taps Veld on the shoulder. ‘Left here.’

‘You know I know the way, sir,’ Veld replies, with a smirk in his voice. ‘Just stopping for cyclists.’

Rufus leans back in his seat, crosses his arms and sighs. Tseng tries not to laugh, wonders what Rufus expects driving through central Cambridge on a Sunday. It’d have been quicker to walk across Jesus Green, he thinks, but is not about to say that in a black sedan with the world's most intimidating driver.

They wait in silence for a few minutes, punctuated solely by Tseng’s phone buzzing.

‘You’re not going to answer that?’ Rufus asks.

‘Nothing important,’ Tseng says, is not about to start a conversation with Elena screeching profanity in an enclosed space. ‘Just friends from home.’

Rufus raises his eyebrows, crosses his legs.

‘We’re here, sir,’ Veld says, and Rufus mutters a _thank Christ._ Rufus shoots out the car before Veld has even pulled over, and Tseng sits awkwardly, waits until the car stops.

‘Thanks,’ Tseng says, before leaving. Veld nods, gives him an analytical look that makes his blood run cold. If the man had x-ray vision, Tseng wouldn’t be all that surprised. 

He opens the car door to an unassuming little place, a restaurant that looks more like a holiday cottage than anywhere of grand repute. It’s all grey brick and delicate flowerbeds, and it reminds Tseng of the kind of place you’d see on a postcard. 

Rufus is by the door, beckons for Tseng to enter up the path. They’re greeted with a _do you have a reservation?_ until the hostess stops, recognises Rufus and instead welcomes them in.

‘Your usual table, Mr. Shinra?’

‘Please, Verity,’ Rufus replies, saunters past them like a Regency gentleman. Tseng smiles quietly, follows him gingerly across to a table by the window, overlooking the river.

They sit down, and Tseng shifts uncomfortably in his seat, feels an urge to fold his hands. 

‘My apologies about Veld,’ Rufus says, leaning back louchely in his chair. ‘He’s very vigilant when it comes to new boys in my car.’

Tseng raises his eyebrows.

‘Is he security?’

‘Very astute,’ Rufus replies, picks up a menu and pushes one over to Tseng. 

‘I think he’s possibly the most intimidating man I’ve ever seen,’ Tseng says, and Rufus laughs loud enough for it to echo. ‘Which I guess makes him good at his job.’

‘I think you’d be good at it,’ Rufus says, grinning. ‘You have the same intensity in your face.’

Tseng feels more than slightly unnerved by the comparison, decides to laugh it off.

‘And work for you? With all the strange boys in your car?’ Tseng teases, opens the menu. ‘I don’t think it’s for me.’

‘Perhaps not,’ Rufus says, looks at him in a way that is strangely analytical. ‘What do you want to eat?’

Tseng looks down at the prices on the menu, and feels more nauseous than he did waking up this morning.

‘I’ll just have a coffee,’ he says.

‘Still feeling ropey?’ Rufus asks.

‘Mm-hm,’ Tseng says. It’s not _technically_ a lie.

Rufus raises a hand for the waitress, orders a black coffee and a darjeeling tea. 

‘You’re not eating?’ 

‘I’m still not feeling spectacular myself,’ Rufus replies, brushes hair from his eyes. Tseng shuffles uncomfortably out of his gilet, tucks it delicately on the back of his chair and tries his best not to make eye contact with Rufus, in case he’s making an unforgivable error in etiquette. Across from him, Rufus fiddles with his lighter, clicks it open and closed, taps his foot. He’s never met anybody who fidgets quite so much.

‘So,’ Tseng says, tries his best at small talk. ‘What’s it like being a Shinra?’

‘You sound like a journalist,’ Rufus says, laughs. ‘I certainly hope the details of our tryst don’t end up in Varsity.’

‘No such luck I’m afraid,’ Tseng says. ‘Besides, you undersell yourself. It’d be national news.’

‘Now _you’re_ flattering yourself,’ Rufus says, smirks into his lap. ‘I’ve heard I have quite a reputation.’

Tseng shifts uncomfortably, does not attempt to correct him. Thankfully, the silence is broken by drinks arriving, the clang of delicate china distracting him. Despite the insinuation, Rufus doesn’t look angry; instead, his face looks distinctly amused.

‘To answer your initial question –‘ Rufus says, sips his tea, ‘- being a Shinra is fairly dull. Luckily, I largely get left to my own devices.’

‘You don’t have much to do with the business?’ Tseng asks.

‘I have ideas,’ Rufus says, mouth twitching slightly. ‘I don’t think my father welcomes them.’

_My father_ , Tseng thinks, amused. Rufus speaks like he’s from a nineteenth century novel.

‘Why not?’ Tseng asks, sips his coffee. It doesn’t taste as much as it costs. ‘Is your dad a control freak?’

‘I really don’t see him all too often,’ Rufus says. ‘Not without an appointment, anyway.’

‘Oh,’ Tseng says, immediately regrets his curiosity. ‘Sorry.’

‘Don’t be,’ Rufus says, flicks his hair and flashes a smile that Tseng thinks looks practiced. ‘He’s busy, I’m busy, it’s how the family operates. At least since Mother passed away, anyhow. She was much more a people person.’

Tseng bites his lip tightly closed, looks down into his coffee. Everyone with a television remembers the news surrounding the death of Margaret Shinra, overboard with lungs full of water, her death as dark and mysterious as her music. If this brunch is supposed to be a date, this is certainly _not_ a first date conversation. Tseng fiddles with his hair, weakly, hopes Rufus will change the subject.

‘Anyway,’ Rufus says, looking largely unbothered, ‘My father and I have different opinions on how to run things. And until he retires, I'm second fiddle, I'm afraid.'

‘He sounds like a bit of a dick,’ Tseng says bluntly, before looking immediately mortified.

Rufus places his cup down on the table slowly, looks Tseng up and down with a new admiration.

‘Well, I think you might be bang on the money there,’ Rufus says, and laughs lightly. ‘But I digress. Why don’t you tell me something about you?’

‘Really?’

‘It hardly seems fair that you know so much about me, yet I know so little about you.’

Tseng sips his coffee and fiddles with his hair, feels slightly embarrassed that Rufus’ dead mum is news for public consumption.

‘Let’s start with an easy one, then,’ Rufus says. ‘How did you find yourself at the Champagne Society ball last night?’

‘Peer pressure,’ Tseng says, with a smile. ‘My friend Elena talked me into it. It’s my final year and I’d never been, and she said I’d be mad to miss it.’

‘Was she right?’ Rufus asks, raising an eyebrow.

‘It was certainly a – unique experience,’ Tseng says. ‘Not that I experienced a whole lot of the ball itself.’

‘You were otherwise occupied,’ Rufus says, wipes his mouth in a way Tseng thinks must be deliberate, in the way that it sends a spark of desire down his spine. 

‘Something like that,’ Tseng says, folds his hands. ‘Anyway, new experiences.’

‘To new experiences indeed,’ Rufus says, raises his almost-empty teacup. ‘Now for the love of God, let's get something to eat.’

Tseng narrows his eyes, caught off guard. 

‘I’m really not hungry -‘

‘Your stomach was rumbling in the car,’ Rufus says, not unkindly. ‘Please, let me.’

Tseng feels the usual tension in his shoulders intensify, grips hands tightly around his wrists. Rufus is more perceptive than Tseng expected, which is a dangerous quality for a boy with soft hair and blue eyes to have.

‘I’ll have what you’re having,’ Tseng says, nodding politely. The mega-watt grin Rufus gives him in return should be heartening, but instead makes him feel as if a boundary has been irrevocably crossed.

_Fuck your pride!_ Elena would say, if she were here. _Free food!_

‘Do you do this with all your hook-ups?’ Tseng asks instead.

‘Not at all,’ Rufus says, places a hand delicately on Tseng’s forearm. ‘Only the ones who call my father a dickhead.’

Tseng tries his best not to grimace, to look at the floor in embarrassment.

‘Your face!’ Rufus crows with laughter. ‘Christ, you’d have thought I’d slapped you. Consider it a compliment.’

Rufus summons the waitress again, orders something with a French name that Tseng doesn’t recognise and another round of coffee for Tseng - _you look like you need one,_ Rufus uncharitably says. They make small talk, time passing quickly until their food arrives, an ornate arrangement of tasting dishes. Rufus reaches for one, and Tseng follows suit. Unlike the coffee, it tastes unbelievably expensive, fragrant and delicate to taste. Tseng briefly imagines being able to eat like this every day, and feels a pang of longing so deep it scares him. The two of them eat in silence.

‘Do you like it?’ Rufus asks, gesturing to the food with his fork, whilst rubbing an insistent foot against Tseng’s thigh.

Tseng’s eyes meet Rufus’ across the table; Rufus flutters his eyelashes, reaching for more food.

‘It’s good,’ Tseng says, wonders how far to push considering he’s not the one paying. ‘Not the best I’ve had.’

‘Oh really?’ Rufus says, raises an eyebrow. His foot is almost against Tseng’s crotch, teasing the tops of Tseng’s thighs with a practiced ease. ‘The food here is usually of exceptional quality.’

Tseng bites down a little too hard on his fork.

‘I wasn’t talking about the _food_ ,’ Tseng says, and Rufus snorts with laughter. 

‘Christ, you’re bad at this.’

Despite his embarrassment, Tseng can’t help but smile a little.

‘I guess I’m into action, not words.’

‘You don’t say,’ Rufus drawls, sips his drink slowly. ‘I ache at the memory.’

‘Now who’s being unsubtle?’

‘I’m about as subtle as a ton of bricks, Tseng. If I want something, I ask for it.’

Tseng brushes hair behind his ear, remembers how Rufus had dropped to his knees so eagerly, so willingly.

‘Then ask for it,’ Tseng says plainly. 

Rufus stands up sharply, grabs his wallet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gonna try and update on mondays. watch as this doesn't happen now i've put that out into the universe


	3. mis-shapes

Their hands are on each other before they’ve even left the restaurant, Rufus’ hands possessive against the small of Tseng’s back. Rufus hands the waitress a card, fidgets even more so than usual as he waits, bouncing like static electricity’s pulsing through him. She hands the card back, and Rufus leads Tseng out, walks him briskly to the car. Rufus clambers in first, almost pulls Tseng in with him, their long limbs clanging against each other as Tseng pulls the door shut behind him.

Rufus’ lips are on Tseng’s neck, fumbling with his collar. Tseng breathes shallowly into the touch, is ready to go again until his eyes meet Veld’s in the rear view mirror, as the driver gives him a look that is borderline murderous.

Rufus laughs, runs a hand through his hair.

‘Veld, roll the partition up, won’t you? He doesn’t bite.’

Veld narrows his eyes, gives them both a look as if to say _I’m watching you_.

‘As you wish, sir,’ he says, and a darkened screen appears, shielding the back seats from view.

‘Don’t worry,’ Rufus whispers softly in Tseng’s ear. ‘It’s just us now.’

Rufus kisses Tseng fully, slips his tongue into Tseng’s mouth and moves to unbutton his shirt. 

‘You really aren’t subtle, are you?’ Tseng says.

‘Well, if I had to wait for you, sitting there all statuesque, we’d be here all day,’ Rufus huffs, closes the space between them by straddling himself over Tseng’s hips.

Tseng lets himself go, leans into the sensation. As if the last twenty-four hours of his life haven’t been ridiculous enough already. He pulls Rufus against him, sucks bruises into his neck that make Rufus moan sharply. Tseng may not have a reputation for deviance the way Rufus does, but he prides himself on being a quick study. He laces a hand tightly in Rufus’ hair, rolls his hips against Rufus’ growing hardness.

Rufus moans, unbuckles his belt.

‘Here?’ Tseng asks, looks towards the partition anxiously.

‘Yes, _here_ ,’ Rufus hisses. ‘I’m losing my fucking mind.’

Tseng tenses instinctively as he feels Rufus’ hand unzipping his own trousers, palming through Tseng’s underwear. It’s hot and tight and Tseng bucks into the touch, sensitive and sore. Rufus slips his cock out of his underwear, rubs himself against Tseng’s cock straining through the fabric. 

Rufus whimpers into Tseng’s mouth, as he pulls Tseng’s cock free from its constraints and rubs them together in his hand, fucking the two of them together in a torturously slow rhythm. Tseng hisses, bites at Rufus’ neck again to keep from crying out; but Rufus keeps going, is surprisingly stubborn in his pace. Tseng fucks himself into Rufus’ hand, forcing them faster, and comes like a shot, feels briefly embarrassed at how easy he loses control.

Rufus smirks down at him and palms himself quickly to his own release, spatters white streaks across the red of Tseng’s trousers. They breathe against each other heavily, Tseng’s back sweaty against the leather seat.

‘I’m pleased these aren’t my trousers,’ Tseng says, with a grin, and Rufus laughs a low thrilling laugh that rings in Tseng’s ears.

The two of them sort themselves out, Rufus wiping his mouth delicately as he shunts himself back into creaking leather seats. Tseng smiles down into his lap, heady and relaxed. 

'I suppose we should consider taking you back to Homotown,' Rufus says, with the look of a kicked puppy. 

‘Probably,’ Tseng says, runs a hand through his hair. 

‘I’ll see you again,’ Rufus says, blunt as a statement of fact.

Tseng nods, shifts in his seat. He exhales a slow, shaky laugh, as if any of this would have been imaginable twenty-four hours ago. 

‘Veld, take us to Homerton College, won’t you?’

A tight-lipped _yes sir_ greets him in response, and Rufus grins at Tseng, lasting only a moment before the two of them burst into embarrassed laughter.

They drive past the station, out past greenery and playing fields, Tseng keeping his eyes chastely lowered to avoid laughing again. They pull up outside the main gate and Rufus holds Tseng by the wrist, offers him a card reading _Rufus Shinra_ in an ornate font, followed by several strings of numbers.

‘A business card?’ Tseng says, frowning uncertainly.

Rufus smirks, lowers his lips to the card and kisses it, presses it into Tseng’s hand.

‘More than a business card, now,’ Rufus says. ‘Call me.’

Tseng scrambles ungracefully out of the car, tries his damnedest not to make any eye contact with Veld. Rufus winds down the window, blows a kiss and waves regally as they drive off, leaving Tseng winded and red-faced on the tarmac.

—

Tseng lies down in his creaking single bed, closes his eyes and feels the taste of Rufus on his lips. His body aches in new, unusual places. His room at college has never been particularly flashy, blu-tack marks and scratches on the walls, but it has always been _his,_ a space of his own to steel himself against the outside world. It’s a far sight better than at home, where he’s one of five and has shared a room with his sisters for as long as he can remember. 

Tseng has never been one to compare himself to others; has always had a discipline and a drive from within that people have commented on since he was a child. He has always exceeded people’s expectations of him, has built those expectations up over time; nobody expects much from an immigrant in an inner city school until his marks make you sit up and take notice. Tseng has always worked hard, has the reports and awards to prove it, has always sacrificed friends and socialising for academics and in this respect, he has not changed. 

Holing up in the library as a teenager is one way to literally never make friends, except perhaps with others who also live there. Elena is one of them, sits opposite Tseng in a faded uniform, has neat handwriting and always shares her watery canteen coffee. Through her, he meets Rude and Reno, Rude who is a music student and misses class a lot, and Reno who simply misses class a lot because _all the teachers are cunts_ , unquote. The four of them become a unit, sharing quiet notes in the library, harassing Rude in the music rooms, Reno harassing _them_ into sharing a bottle of White Ace behind the bus shelter. None of them fit in the way they’re supposed to, unfriendly and driven and sharp around the edges. 

Tseng has never made friends like it since, not even at university, where friendships are supposed to be easily forged through hangovers and rounds of tea.

So of course, it’s the three of them who are desperate to know about Tseng’s twenty four hours of debauchery, simply because the only thing less likely to have happened is for Reno to suddenly decide he’s joining a convent.

 _bitch are you going to answer,_ Reno has sent, _or are you thotting into the next dimension_

_ANOTHER DIMENSION ANOTHER DIMENSION ANOTHER DIMENSION another dimension_

_thanks rude_

_guys i genuinely think he might be dead???_

_Tseng’s a bad bitch u can’t kill him_

Tseng smiles down at his phone, rolls his eyes with no real malice.

 _I lived_ , he types. _Want me to call you?_

Within the space of about thirty seconds, his phone is buzzing with an incoming call from Elena.

‘This is Tseng,’ he says in the plainest voice he can muster.

‘Jesus fucking _Christ_ Tseng, talk about falling off grid,’ Elena says, and Tseng can positively see her face flushing, five foot of spite and malice. ‘Are you alright?’

‘I’m fine, honestly,’ Tseng says lightly. ‘It’s been an… eventful day.’

‘ _Eventful_ ,’ Elena huffs. ‘If I weren’t so curious I’d fucking deck you.’

Tseng smiles quietly.

‘Well go on,’ Elena says. ‘You better have shagged someone because Reno and Rude have been workshopping jokes _all day_.’

‘Give me a taste,’ Tseng says, laughing.

‘Tseng and his massive schlong -‘

‘That’s the best they came up with? All day?’

‘I know, it doesn’t even rhyme properly,’ Elena scowls, laughs in spite of herself. ‘So who was he? He cute?’

Tseng hears curiosity in her voice, decides he’ll milk it for all its worth.

‘Very blonde, very posh, very Eton.’

‘Ew,’ Elena says, to which Tseng snorts uncharitably. ‘The dick worth it?’

‘Possibly,’ Tseng says.

‘ _Possibly_? What is this, Cluedo?’

‘You might know him, actually.’

‘What?’ Elena pauses, sucks in a breath dramatically. ‘Is he famous?’

‘Potentially.’

‘Is he a royal?’

‘No,’ Tseng says, ‘but he’s got the attitude of one.’

‘Tseng, you’re fucking killing me.’

Tseng bites his lip, moves the phone gingerly away from his ear as he mutters _Rufus Shinra._

There is a silence.

‘We’ve had April Fools this year, T.’

‘I only wish it was.’

Tseng hears the sharp intake of breath, which he knows is immediately followed by - oh, yeah, _there’s_ the shriek.

‘Holy shit!’

Tseng grimaces, plays with his hair.

‘How did that even happen?’

‘He was there, I was there, he was just - unbelievably horny.’

‘Jesus,’ Elena says, with an admiration in her voice. ‘What’s he even like?’

‘Surprisingly human,’ Tseng says, actually means it. ‘He’s surrounded by expensive stuff and terrifying staff, but he looks like a kid. Fidgets a lot, hates his dad.’

‘Staff?’ Elena laughs. ‘Did you have to get vetted before fucking?’

‘I mean you laugh, but –‘

Elena shrieks down the phone, in hysterics.

‘He even took us for _brunch_.’

‘Who are you and what have you done with Tseng Liu?’

‘I’m every bit as repulsed and astonished as you are.’

Elena exhales slowly, and Tseng can hear her trying to muffle a snort.

‘You can laugh,’ Tseng says. ‘It’s objectively ridiculous.’

‘Tell me you at least got a photo, or stole something,’ Elena says shrewdly. ‘No way Reno’ll believe you without evidence.’

Tseng looks up and down at himself, at Rufus’ red chinos spattered in white.

‘I’m wearing some of his clothes,’ Tseng says. ‘And I think I have his number.’

‘Bitch, you’re my soulmate,’ Elena says admiringly. ‘You’ve learnt so well.’

Then, Elena asks the question that Tseng has been asking himself since stumbling from Rufus’ car.

‘Are you going to see him again?’

‘I don’t know,’ Tseng says, honestly. ‘On paper he’s everything that I fucking hate about this place, but in person he’s not – awful? Really easy to talk to.’

‘And very pretty,’ Elena adds.

‘Yes,’ Tseng says begrudgingly. ‘That helps.’

Tseng sighs deeply, feels embarrassed at his next question before he even asks.

‘What would you do?’

‘Easy,’ Elena says. ‘I’d seduce him, marry him for his money, then kill him and split the inheritance with you.’

Tseng laughs.

‘I wouldn’t put it past you.’

‘I think you should text him,’ Elena says, ‘even if just for a fuck. Reliable, high quality dick on tap.’

‘Why do I let you talk me into these things?’

‘Because you’re a boring old fuck and you need me to spice up your life,’ Elena says, matter-of-factly.

‘That’s fair.’

Tseng sighs, flops backwards into bed.

‘This is fucking mad,’ he says.

‘Yeah, basically,’ Elena agrees. ‘But I’m living for it.’

‘God,’ Tseng says. ‘Anyway, enough about my ridiculous day for a minute. How are things in Sheff?’

‘Same as usual,’ Elena says. ‘Cissy got kicked out of Popworld last night and tried to beat up the bouncer.’

‘An average night for you, then,’ Tseng says. 

‘Yeah, pretty much,’ Elena says. ‘Come back up for the weekend or something, won’t you? I miss you.’

‘I would,’ Tseng says, ‘but I’ve got essays due the next few weeks.’

Elena makes a vomiting noise that scratches against the receiver.

‘You hear that?’ Elena says in mock upset. ‘He’s got time to fuck Rufus Shinra but he hasn’t got time to see little ol’ me.’

‘Yes, well,’ Tseng says. ‘Back to real life tomorrow.’

‘Doesn’t _have_ to be,’ Elena says. ‘Text him!’

‘Your feedback is noted,’ Tseng says dryly. ‘And I miss you too.’

They say bye to each other, Elena singing down the phone until Tseng finally hangs up. He checks the time; coming up for 10pm. Studying today is a write-off, he realises, so he pulls himself out of bed, unzips his bag and packs his books in for an early start tomorrow. 

Tseng looks out the window briefly, sees seventies concrete and a large collection of wheelie bins. Hardly the dreaming spires from yesterday; but then, Tseng remembers, this is what _real life_ looks like. 

He draws the curtains and undresses, folds Rufus’ clothes neatly over the chair, hopes Rufus won’t expect them dry cleaned. That’s an in, perhaps; the clothes, or the fact that Tseng needs his suit back to return it. That’s practical enough, and Tseng has always been good at practical. 

He lets his hair down, turns the main light off and gets into bed, pulls the sheets half over him in the humid April air. In the back of his phone case is Rufus’ card, and when Tseng removes it and twiddles it in his hands, he catches a faint smell of Rufus’ cologne. For a while he lies there, hair falling in his eyes, as he weighs up the pros and cons of opening the door to Rufus Shinra.

In the end, Tseng tells himself, he really _does_ need that suit back

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am clinically incapable of writing a fic without putting elena in it. sorry can’t do it
> 
> because it’s a pulp fic, the gang are from sheffield of course! in es’ original thread, elena is studying at hallam and cissnei is at away in northumbria, but for the sake of comedy value cissnei now goes to hallam as well, largely for comedy value (and because i think they should date.) reno still lives on rude’s floor at bath spa though, and we’ll see more of them later
> 
> this chapter is a little small but 4 and 5 are both absolute behemoths so please forgive me. if you’re enjoying this then please know that i love you v much


	4. monday morning

Tseng wakes up to his alarm, a sharp trill in his ears that he knows means seven-am. Mercifully, today he feels less like he’s been hit by a car. Bleary-eyed and sniffing, Tseng reaches for his phone, slides the alarm quiet. The next thing he does is flick through his messages like a teenage girl, opens the one he’d sent shortly before falling asleep.

 _It’s Tseng_ , it reads. _I still have your clothes._

In the light of day Tseng’s message reads a lot more threatening than he intended, more like a hostage negotiation than foreplay. Still, he’s sent it, and Rufus hasn’t replied; but then, Tseng thinks, Rufus doesn’t look like the sort of person who’s ever seen seven-am in his life.

The only new message to his phone is one in the group chat.

_hole update????_

_No further hole to report, Reno,_ Tseng replies, trying not to grin. _You’ll be the first to know._

Tseng gets up, pulls on his dressing gown and shuffles down to the communal bathroom; again, a stark contrast to Rufus’ palatial en-suite. Still, nobody else is awake and Tseng has the place to himself, can hum softly in the shower and rinse his hair at a glacial pace without being a public nuisance. Tseng is vain about few things, but his hair is one of them; it’s something you inherit living with four sisters. 

He dries himself off and walks back to his room, dresses himself with no gilet in sight. 

First off is a nine-am lecture, followed by a ten-am tutorial, then holing up in the library until his second lecture at four. He leaves college at eight-thirty, builds in time to stop by the union and get a decent coffee for a quid. While his head’s recovered, Tseng is somewhat embarrassed to feel his thighs and wrists still aching, which is hopefully something a strong coffee and some ibuprofen will fix. _Christ, what a mess, he_ thinks to himself, tries to ignore the thrill in his stomach every time he accidentally brushes bruised skin.

 _Stop that,_ Tseng tells himself, waiting in line at the union cafe. _You’ve got lectures, and there’s nothing horny about counter-terrorism_. 

Tseng picks up his coffee to go, walks a few minutes through the corridors until he reaches the Psychology department, waits with a few others who are early waiting for the lecture theatre to open. He taps his foot, feeling uncharacteristically impatient; maybe it’s the time spent with Rufus and his fidgeting hands. Eventually the doors open, and he picks up a handout as he shuffles in behind the others. Tseng takes a seat in the middle of the room, solitary against the wall, and reads the title of today’s lecture; _The Psychologies of Terrorism._ Reading list is standard, and should be interesting enough. He reaches in his bag, opens his copy of _The Terrorist Identity: Explaining the Terrorist Threat._

It’s easy enough to follow, and genuinely _interesting_ \- Tseng takes notes avidly on the sense of radical community and identity that the lecturer mentions, circles it as a helpful citation for his essay. Half an hour passes very quickly, according to his phone face-up on the desk, but Tseng’s concentration is broken by a flurry of notifications from the group chat, including one from Rude that makes Tseng’s stomach sink.

 _He has a Wikipedia page???_ , Rude sends, attaches a link.

Fucking Elena.

 _I see the news has spread_ , Tseng types, moving his phone under the desk. 

_quick quick im gonna edit the personal life section to include ‘infamously railed Tseng Liu after the champagne society ball’,_ Reno sends back.

 _I will fucking kill you,_ Tseng types feverishly, is trying to concentrate on the lecture but god, he’s tempted to follow that link. He can divert his attention for a few seconds, surely –

 _Rufus Edward Bartholomew Shinra_ – Tseng has to stop reading to _grimace_ at the name _– (born October 2_ _nd_ _, 1993), is an English businessman, media personality, and socialite. He is the son of Felix Shinra, founder of the Shinra Electric Power Company. Born in Surrey, England and raised there and in Athens, Greece, he began working for the Shinra Electric Power Company at fourteen whilst in full-time education. He was the lead developer for the Engine project, which spearheaded expansion of nuclear power across the East and West Midlands._

Tseng raises his eyebrows. He remembers seeing the construction signs for Engine everywhere; had no idea it was a Shinra outlet. Perhaps there’s a brain in that hair after all.

_Shinra is perhaps best known for his late-night persona, which has made him a frequent fixture of tabloid journalism. In a profile for the September 2014 issue of Tatler, Shinra was described as ‘the definitive Great British socialite’, and as ‘Paris Hilton in a white suit’ by the Telegraph in 2012._

Tseng snorts. Those are certainly more diplomatic picks than the headlines from the _Star_. He flicks through, keeps on reading, any pretence of taking notes in this lecture abandoned.

_Shinra was born on 2 October 1993 in the London borough of Surrey. His mother, Margaret (née Fairweather) was a musician, and his father, Felix Shinra, is a businessman and engineer known for founding the Shinra Electric Power Company. He attended Eaton House, Colet Court and then Eton College, where he was awarded the Newcastle Scholarship, an annual award for high exam performance. He went on to read Economics at King’s College, Cambridge, where he currently resides._

Tseng keeps scrolling through a list of accolades as long as his arm, flicks down to the Personal Life section, where he hopes to God Reno hasn’t made good on his threat to edit it.

_On August 22, 1999, Shinra’s mother Margaret died by apparent suicide, by jumping overboard a private yacht owned by the Shinra family._

_Shinra stated in a 2016 interview that he plans to assume the role as President of the Shinra Electric Power Company upon his father’s retirement._

Tseng purses his lips, somewhat disappointed at how nondescript it is. Even if he had no desire to see his own name included, he’d secretly hoped for something a little more sordid.

Tseng returns to the chat, and sighs; Rude’s already changed his display name to _paris hilton in a white suit._

 _bartholomew!!_ , Reno types.

 _Shut up_ , Tseng replies, decides for the sake of his degree he’s muting notifications for the morning. He looks up, and Christ, it’s ten to ten already; he’s blanked on the past fifteen minutes or so. Tseng sighs, wonders if he can get the lecturer to send the slides over if he asks nicely enough. 

His tutorial is next, and as usual Tseng ends up doing most of the legwork for everyone else. It’s not a crime to know the answers, he thinks, and working hard makes him popular with his tutor, if nobody else. It’s a return to Tseng’s normal routine, slows his breathing and distracts him from rich boys. The tutorial flies by, and Tseng stays behind briefly to ask about the set texts for his essay. 

Next is the walk up to the library, which takes Tseng through town, where tourists and cyclists threaten to crash into him in equal measure. Tseng likes the city in the evenings, when it’s quiet and the limestone buildings are cast in a purple hue, but during the day, walking past the crowds outside Trinity, he fucking hates it. Still, over the years he’s perfected the art of slipping through crowds, hitting people with his backpack a little too hard to be accidental. 

Eventually he makes it, scans his ID at the turnstile and makes his way to his usual seat on the third floor. It’s busier than usual what with exam season coming up, but not quite _grab-a-seat-at-6am-to-assert-dominance_ busy yet, so he takes a seat and sets up for the rest of the day. 

Tseng works quietly until around one, where a mixture of hunger and people leaving their seats distracts him from his writing. He reaches in his bag for some water, for his phone - and Christ, he’s never been quite _this_ popular. There are dozens of missed messages in the group chat which Tseng is _not_ going to engage with, some messages in another group for people on the Criminology module, and then, most notably, two messages from a number Tseng recognises from Rufus’ business card.

 _Morning sunshine,_ the first reads; _it’s afternoon_ , Tseng thinks. _Don’t worry about the clothes. Consider them a memento._

Tseng scowls down at his phone in response. In Rufus’ case, distance has not made the heart grow fonder.

 _I’d offer to do the same,_ Tseng types, _but I really do need my suit back_.

Rufus replies back at lightning speed. 

_I’ll have Veld drop it off later today._

Tseng’s phone chimes again - and again, and _wow_ , Rufus is a more demanding texter than Reno.

_So what are you up to?_

_Not thinking of me, I hope._

Tseng rolls his eyes instinctively, as if his sheer disdain can be communicated through the phone. _Arrogant prick_ , he thinks.

 _You should be so lucky_ , Tseng types in response. _And I’m studying, it’s a Monday_. 

Tseng moves to put his phone away, puts his wallet in his pocket to head downstairs to the library cafe; in the rush of everything, he’s forgotten to pack lunch, another decision he mentally kicks himself for. He’s about to move when again, _buzz_ -

_Not even now?_

With the message, Rufus sends a selfie of him still in bed, smirking, his hair perfectly tousled. Tseng opens it, feels his cheeks flush. He is _not_ rising to the bait. 

_You’re still in bed?_ Tseng replies, biting his tongue. _Don’t you have a degree to be getting on with?_

Tseng picks up his bag and walks to the lift, phone in hand. He is not letting Rufus eat into his lunch break, no matter how obnoxiously he tries. 

_All work and no play makes Tseng a dull boy,_ comes the next message.

 _I’ve had plenty of play in the last 24 hours_ , Tseng types back, exits the lift by the library entrance.

 _I suppose_ , replies Rufus. _Always time for more though._

 _Maybe for you,_ Tseng replies as he walks. _Some of us actually have to study._

Tseng picks up a sandwich, waits at the back of the queue snaking round the library foyer. It’s busy as it always is at one, and Tseng sighs; he’d probably have just beaten the lunchtime rush if he hadn’t been distracted.

 _You worry too much_ , Rufus has sent. 

_Don’t you have an entourage to entertain, or something?_ Tseng types. _Must be something more pressing in your social schedule than just harassing me._

_I don’t think many of my entourage would appreciate this,_ Rufus replies.

Tseng looks down at the screen, irritated and frowning.

_Appreciate what??_

He opens the message, and shit, _there_ is Rufus Shinra’s dick on the screen in all its glory, positively bursting through the screen to greet Tseng standing in the library cafe. He closes it immediately, burying his phone under his arms like he’s hiding an explosive. Tentatively, Tseng moves his hand to shield the screen, types a furious reply.

_Jesus fucking Christ, Rufus!!!_

_Well, I was made in his image_ , Rufus texts back, with a winking face. _It’s a good angle, isn’t it?_

_Wasn’t so much looking at the composition as I was looking at your dick in the middle of the fucking library!_

Someone taps Tseng hard on the shoulder, and Tseng realises he’s been holding up the queue. As if this entire scenario wasn’t embarrassing enough, his ears are red and he feels an urge to cross his legs in case of emergency. Quietly, he places his sandwich on the counter, and asks for another coffee. Looking down at his phone, the only response is a string of laughing emojis.

 _Pretty sure unsolicited dick pics are a sex crime,_ Tseng types back, scowling with embarrassment.

 _“”Unsolicited,””_ Rufus replies. _Oh, listen to you. Like I haven’t made your afternoon at the library that much more interesting_.

The server puts Tseng’s coffee down on the counter, gestures at the till – _six pounds fifty_ for a drink and a sandwich, Jesus, now he remembers why he brings packed lunch. So much for student discount. Tseng reluctantly puts his card on the reader, cradles his needlessly expensive lunch in his arms and takes a seat by the window. 

_My essay was actually quite interesting_ , Tseng replies, a small smirk on his face. 

_Ugh_ , Rufus replies. _It’s like flirting with a brick wall_.

 _Sorry,_ Tseng types. _You can fuck me after I get a first._

Tseng admires his comeback, takes a sip of his coffee and winces at how hot it still is. 

_You cannot just drop lines like that and expect me not to die_ , Rufus says.

 _I’m turning my phone off now,_ Tseng replies, laughs to himself so unsubtly that a girl two seats over turns to stare at him. _Enjoy your afternoon!_

As much as watching Rufus squirm might be worth it, ignoring him is far, far funnier. Tseng turns off his phone and bites into his sandwich, feels more accomplished with his texts than he does with any of the research he’s done this morning. He wolfs down his food, takes the coffee back through the turnstile with him to finish later. All in all, he’s been gone about half an hour, and blue-balling the shit out of Rufus Shinra has given him a new lease of life.

He works studiously, his phone lying silently in his pocket. 

\--

Tseng finishes up the first draft of his essay at around six; comes in just under word count, but knows it won’t as soon as he starts proofing it properly. Still, as far as he’s concerned, that’s tomorrow-Tseng’s problem now, as he wants an evening not spent frowning at his screen. From the library, it’s a solid half hour walk home, slower if he dawdles, and hopefully the crowds and tour buses will have eased off by now. 

Tseng often walks this route in the dark, holing himself up until eight or nine, but today, he catches the sunset as he walks back through Cambridge. He will miss this place when he graduates – well, parts of it anyway. He won’t miss the omnipresent stress that heaves through his body, he won’t miss weekly deadlines and crowds of tourists or dickheads in their Jack Wills shirts, but the light off the river, the pale yellow buildings – these are the things he commits to memory. It’s weird to think he only has a few months left here; but Tseng holds that thought as soon as it appears, because that way exam panic and job-hunting lies. He needs to at least _finish_ his coursework before he’s paralysed by indecision.

 _Fuck me after I get a first,_ Tseng thinks hollowly. A first-class degree from Cambridge is all he’s wanted for the last three years, is all he’s pursued with a steely determination – and now, a boy turns up and threatens to shake his focus at the most crucial moment. Not just any boy, either – seemingly the richest boy in the world, who is infuriatingly stunning and sharp and could probably get a first without even _trying._ Tseng has never been that man and never will be, has had to work and study and claw his way to scraps of success. It’s another thing for him to be bitter about, probably, and Tseng sighs. This navel-gazing insecurity doesn’t suit him. 

Instead, he pauses, looks at the river, remembers who he is and where he comes from. It centres him, reminds him what he is here to do.

The rest of the walk is less picturesque as the buildings become less ornate and historic, more brutalist concrete than anything _pretty_. Truth be told, he doesn’t mind it. It reminds him of Sheffield, his city which has never been pretty, but has always had a spirit about it which he loves. When he gets a minute, he really should take Elena up on her offer and go and spend the weekend there. 

Eventually, he gets to Homerton, walks past the striking main building to the shabby student accommodation where people actually _live._ He enters his room, third on the left, and flops on the bed unceremoniously, finally switches his phone back on and winces as about twenty messages come through. More of the same from the group chat, ribbing him about being Rufus Shinra’s bit of rough, and several needy, desperate replies from Rufus for leaving him horny and wanting. Tseng smiles a resigned smile at all of it, laughs at the ridiculousness of recent events. 

For tea, it’s pasta again, one of the few things he has left at the bottom of the cupboard. He really does need to go to the supermarket tomorrow, and makes a mental note to go after classes. He listens to a podcast while he cooks, hopes nobody else comes into the kitchen because Tseng is far too tired for small talk. The stars align, and he’s left by himself, to make tasteless tomato pasta that is less food than it is fuel. 

When he’s finished heating the sauce, Tseng sits, tries his best not to compare it to the decadent food he ate yesterday, the food Rufus paid for. _You’ll be longing for that veal for the rest of your life,_ Tseng thinks to himself, vows never to say this to Rufus _ever_. He flicks through his phone as he eats, mindlessly; out of a morbid curiosity, he flicks through his Facebook feed, scrolls through a series of brainless chain posts until a photo catches his eye. It’s nobody he knows properly, a friend of a friend - but there in the photo is Rufus, laughing and drinking with a group of lads in blazers and boater hats.

Rufus is in the centre, because of course he is, wearing a white sweater vest under his blazer with his hair pushed back under his hat, champagne in hand as per usual. It astonishes Tseng how much he is simultaneously like this image and not like it at all, thoughtful and charming whilst still being beautiful and dirty rich.

He checks the timestamp; _posted 20 minutes ago_. Tseng smiles a tight-lipped smile. He’d been joking about Rufus having the world's busiest social schedule, but he wasn’t wrong. Rufus smiles at him from the photo, as if to say _that’s what you get for ignoring me, fucker._

 _No, that’s what you get for fucking the most hypervisible person on campus_ , Tseng thinks to himself. There’s a tightness in his stomach, and tension in his shoulders. _Play stupid games, win stupid prizes._

The prize here is a feeling Tseng faintly recognises as jealousy. Not necessarily just at seeing Rufus, but seeing Rufus and the world he inhabits, the world he moves through with such ease.

Tseng puts his phone down, finishes his bland food. There’s a metaphor in there somewhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in terms of the dates in this AU, the events of this fic take place in around 2016-2017 (simply because this is when the author may have been to university and she is just very lazy) even if there's a definite pulp-y, 90s influence to the setting
> 
> tseng studies psychology in this AU, but is taking final year modules on criminology and criminal psychology, writing his dissertation on counter terrorism and surveillance (again, more about this later!)
> 
> the turks' irl surnames in this have been filched from all of nemi_almasy's fics, which if you haven't read then you absolutely should!!
> 
> thanks as always for your kind words - this is a very niche, self-indulgent fic and i'm so pleased that others are enjoying it too. :)


	5. i spy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i took her to a supermarket, don't know why but i had to start it somewhere, so i started
> 
> THERE
> 
> not me actually picking up the lyrics of the song again five chapters in. whew

_Another day as usual_ , Tseng thinks as he finishes up the notes from his lecture, files them meticulously as the bell rings for two-pm. He pulls his hair back and stretches out, has been in the same position in the same seat in the same hall for the best part of four hours, and his spine feels jagged and aching. Library this evening for his Crime and Society essay and proofing them both tomorrow morning, he plans mentally, but not before finally getting up to the shop for a big food shop. He’s got about a month or so before his student loan gets repaid back into his account, so until then, it’s bulk meals that he can freeze and reheat for the foreseeable future. Depressing, but practical; _like most things_ , Tseng thinks.

Tseng waits outside the lecture theatre at the bus stop over the road, his student ID getting him to the main library, the shops by the edge of town, and nowhere else remotely useful. He waits in the queue, plugs his scrappy earphones in and flicks through his messages. 

_Afternoon,_ reads a text from Rufus. _What are you up to?_

Tseng sighs, wonders if this will be another _you up?_ shortly followed by a dick pic scenario. He covers his screen just in case.

 _Just going shops,_ Tseng types back. _You?_

 _Returning to the land of the living,_ Rufus sends back, with a string of vomiting faces. 

_Big one last night?_ Tseng sends, feigns ignorance. The bus pulls up with a squeal of the tires, and Tseng follows the queue on board, shows the driver his ID and sits in one of the fold-down seats. Tseng turns up his podcast, feels his phone vibrate in his hand.

 _Possibly too big,_ Rufus has sent. _I fear I may be growing soft in my old age._

 _Watch your mouth,_ Tseng replies. _I’m a fourth year. Positively a senior citizen._

 _In that case, I am a terrible, precocious young whippersnapper_. Rufus replies, with a winking face. _Where abouts in town are you?_

 _Going Lidl_ , Tseng types back, shifts up as another person takes the seat next to him.

_Where??_

_Google it, whippersnapper_ , Tseng texts back, puts his phone in his pocket and returns to his podcast, rewinding a good five minutes or so where he's tuned out. As always, Rufus has demanded his attention, appearing in his phone as if to say _notice me!!_ and Tseng ends up feeding the beast despite his best attempts not to.

Around ten minutes later, Tseng dings the bell for his stop, thanks the bus driver as he leaves. The shops are just round the corner, and going on a weekday mid-afternoon means he should miss the queues, for the most part. He fishes in his pocket for a pound to put in the trolley, finds one and unclips his trolley from the others, walks through the entrance and starts loading up with food.

Bulk boring bits first, lots of tins that will keep for a good while, then bread for his lunches, then meat he can put in the freezer if nobody’s stolen his freezer space again. Tseng is not above putting passive aggressive notes on his drawer if he has to, and he is thinking about just how fucking irritating it is to share a freezer with six other students when something catches his eye, making him gawp in awe.

‘You’re joking.’

Enter Rufus Shinra, in full undercover celebrity costume; tailored jacket, white cashmere jumper and dark sunglasses, as if he couldn’t be more of a parody of himself. He waves to Tseng from the other end of the aisle, walks through as if he expects shoppers to part like the Red Sea.

‘Afternoon,’ Rufus says to him, lowers his sunglasses like he’s a dirty cop. ‘I’m incognito.’

‘You very much _aren’t,_ ’ Tseng says, snorting. ‘Are the sunglasses part of the costume, or is this hangover chic?’

‘Possibly both,’ Rufus muses, pulls his glasses away from his face before wincing at the light, thinking better of it. ‘I’m sorry I always call you when I’m feeling wretched.’

‘Must be my warm and nurturing personality,’ Tseng says flatly, which Rufus laughs at. ‘Anyway, are you supposed to be here? Shouldn’t you be here with security?’

‘The car’s outside,’ Rufus says, tosses his hair. ‘Besides, you’ll protect me, won’t you?’

Tseng looks at him blankly.

‘I mean, I can probably ram my trolley into someone.’

‘That’ll do,’ Rufus says in a sing-song, leans on the trolley and trips as it rolls away.

‘Suave,’ Tseng teases, rolls his eyes and reaches for the cereal. And then, more bluntly than he intends, Tseng asks, 'Why are you here?'

‘Well, I wanted to see you,’ Rufus says plainly. ‘In your natural habitat.’

Tseng snorts.

‘Who are you, David Attenborough?’

‘ _This is the Tseng in his home environment_ ,’ Rufus says in a deeper voice, puffs his chest out and laughs. ‘I wanted to see a day in your life. You had one in mine. Besides, do you really need an excuse to see _me_?’

Tseng smiles, bemused. _What on earth could you possibly want to see my life for?_ Tseng thinks to himself, but doesn’t question it, doesn’t have the time in the day more than anything else.

‘As long as you don’t start narrating the other shoppers, you’ll be fine,’ Tseng says, carries on walking, gestures for Rufus to follow him. Tinny music plays over the speaker, and Rufus hums along delicately, walking with a spring in his step that Tseng immediately finds off-putting.

The two of them must look like a comedy double act, Tseng thinks, with Rufus in his cashmere and brogues and Tseng in jeans and a T-shirt. Tseng picks up a bag of pasta the size of his head, some tinned tomatoes and a multipack of tuna. Rufus watches him, his mouth twitching every now and again at food he finds displeasing, and Tseng feels tension in his jaw. 

‘Can you stop doing that?’

‘Doing what?’ Rufus asks.

‘That judging thing. The thing with your mouth.’

‘I thought you _liked_ the things I do with my mouth,’ Rufus quips, and Tseng sighs, concedes the point. Shopping with Rufus is like shopping with a child, as he stops to look at things with a wide-eyed wonder, marvelling at how quaint it all is. Tseng sighs, does not remember signing up for babysitting duty.

‘You don’t want anything?’

‘I don’t think food is advisable,’ Rufus says, gesturing to his head. ‘Besides, I wouldn’t know where to _start_ in here. Everything’s in – German?’

‘As if you’ve never been to Lidl,’ Tseng says, shaking his head. ‘You’re from another planet.’

‘Well, I understand the premise,’ Rufus says. ‘I’m merely visiting.’

‘The _premise_ of food shopping,’ Tseng says, tries not to laugh. He turns the corner, tries not to run his trolley over Rufus’ feet. ‘Well, I’m pleased you’re enjoying your day as one of the common people.’

‘I’d enjoy anywhere with you,’ Rufus says, with a seductive drawl to his voice that simultaneously sends sparks down Tseng’s spine and instinctively makes him roll his eyes.

‘Of all the supermarkets in all the towns in the world, he just happens to walk into mine,’ Tseng says mockingly. ‘If I'd had known you were coming, I'd have dressed _you_ up this time.’

Rufus scowls, his nose wrinkling as he looks Tseng up and down.

‘I’m glad you didn’t.’

Tseng finishes up his shopping to narration by Rufus, who picks up different items and reads the names out in dramatic German accents. Tseng finds it sweet for around two minutes, after which it is extremely grating. _You’d be so lovely if you didn’t talk as much,_ Tseng thinks, is in a half mind to say it to Rufus but he’s so childlike in his excitement it would feel somewhat like kicking a puppy.

Eventually, Tseng’s trolley sports enough budget student staples to last him a good few weeks, if nobody pinches anything from the communal cupboards this time. _You’ve got enough tins there to survive a nuclear winter,_ Rufus comments, and Tseng tries his best to ignore the knee-jerk anger that comes from having his food shopping judged by someone who probably can’t even use a microwave. 

They wait in the queue, and Tseng starts to unload his many tins onto the conveyor belt, makes a show of it, wondering if Rufus will lend a hand. Instead, Rufus looks at him studiously, as if he’s a case study on how to complete entirely fucking mundane tasks, and Tseng sighs, resists the urge to say _thanks for the help._

They get to the front of the queue, and Tseng pulls his bag for life out his pocket, starts packing as Rufus watches the cashier in faint astonishment, gapes at how quickly they scan the items through. 

Eventually the cashier reads the total, turns on the card machine. Tseng fumbles around in his wallet for his card, but before he can get there, Rufus has placed his phone against the card reader. A loud beep, and the transaction’s gone through. 

‘Oops,’ Rufus says, with a wan smile.

Tseng stares at him, stunned. His stomach feels as if it could cave in on itself. There is a silence as Tseng stares at Rufus, mouth agape, broken only by the cashier pointedly clearing their throat.

‘What was that for?’

‘Consider it a gift from your fairy godmother,’ Rufus says, smirking, and for a brief moment, Tseng has an urge to punch him in his smug, perfect face. Instead, he stows up the rest of his groceries into a bag quickly, red-faced, looks up and exchanges a brief, mortified look with the cashier.

‘Let’s go,’ Rufus says, and, unsurprisingly, does not offer to help carry the bags. 

_So you know how to pay for things, but don’t know how to do anything else,_ Tseng thinks bitterly, as they leave the store in silence. Tseng walks a good few metres behind Rufus, wanting to disassociate from him as best as possible, face clammy with a mix of shame and anger.

‘The car’s over here,’ Rufus calls. ‘I’ll give you a lift –‘

Tseng walks forward to meet him, eyes furious.

‘Seriously, why did you do that?’ Tseng asks. ‘I can afford my god damn _food shop_ , Rufus.’

‘Oh,’ Rufus says, looking slightly put out. ‘I thought you might need the help.’

‘I don’t need _help_ ,’ Tseng says, willing his face not to turn beetroot. ‘I’ve known you for all of ten seconds and you just assume that’s something I need?’

Rufus' haughty features turn cold.

'Well, you didn't mind when it was me buying you lunch.'

'That's _different,_ ' Tseng hisses. 'Last time, you offered. You didn't even _ask_ this time. You just assumed.'

‘Well,’ Rufus says, folding his arms. ‘I just thought it might be nice.’

‘You thought –‘ Tseng starts, can’t finish what he wants to say because of Rufus’ eyes, so cold and so clueless. ‘You have to understand, right, that throwing your money around isn’t _nice_ , sometimes. Sometimes it makes people uncomfortable, especially when you’re swanning round the supermarket like it’s a fucking holiday camp.’

‘I really think you’re reading too much into this,’ Rufus says, taps his foot, irritated. ‘I was just trying to have a bit of fun.’

‘This is _fun_ for you, eh? You really don’t get it,’ Tseng sighs, the anger in his eyes clouded more by frustration. ‘You make me feel like a charity case. And I won’t be embarrassed like that. Not by _you._ ’

Tseng’s hands are fists, his shopping bags cutting grooves into the skin. He feels angry, and embarrassed, and deceived, because for a day or two there he thought that Rufus Shinra might be different, might genuinely be perceptive and understanding. Tseng sighs, feels the familiar tension rise in his shoulders as he walks away from Rufus, leaves him alone in his puzzled, well-dressed world.

‘Oh come on, Tseng, it’s a half hour walk,’ Rufus tries, but Tseng’s already gone.

—

After his shopping, Tseng tries to work, sits in his room and does some breathing exercises and puts on a fucking Celtic Moods playlist but nothing quite quells his anger. At this point, he feels more incensed at his own lack of discipline than he does at Rufus, because compartmentalising his emotions and just getting on with things is usually his specialty. He keeps making stupid typos, forgets to note down his page references, and all in all the few paragraphs he’s written this evening are a god damn shambles. Eventually, Tseng sighs, leans back in his chair and lets his hair sink over his face, admitting defeat.

Ever since Rufus Shinra’s arrived in his life, Tseng has been plagued with a whole host of new emotions, all of which he could do without. Self-doubt, insecurity, and now, after this afternoon - a concerning sense of just how proud he is. What should have been something nice ended up wounding Tseng’s pride more deeply than he can possibly describe, and has shaken his perception of who he thinks Rufus is entirely.

Tseng sits back, decides to approach it the way he would an essay; find information from another source.

 _Anyone got a minute?_ Tseng types to the group chat, sighs deeply. He has an urge to open one of his beers, ones he was planning to save until the end of term, but frankly, it’s been a weird fucking day and he deserves one. His phone pings a _yes_ from Rude and Elena, a weed emoji from Reno, which he infers is also a yes; Elena texts _group call in 5?_

 _Sounds perfect_ , Tseng replies, puts his phone down and cracks one of his cans open.

A few minutes later, Elena starts the call, puts video on. Tseng agrees reluctantly, tries to do something with his hair; on the other end, Reno is lying on Rude’s chest, Rude fully dressed, Reno less so.

‘Nice, Reno,’ Elena says, grimaces from her bed.

‘What?’ Reno says. ‘I’m not putting a shirt on for you dickheads.’

Tseng smiles, feels relaxed for the first time all day.

‘So what’s the craic?’ asks Rude, pushes his glasses up his nose.

‘A supermarket trip from hell,’ Tseng says, Elena rolling her eyes. He tells them in great detail about his day out with Rufus, from him stalking Tseng to the supermarket for paying for his shopping to Tseng walking home alone. ‘Verdicts please: am I the asshole?’

‘Absolutely not,’ Elena says quickly. ‘It’s rude.’

‘No fuckin’ way,’ concurs Reno. ‘Like what, man’s walking around like he’s on fuckin’ safari, patronising everyone, then he decides he’s gonna splash the cash? He’s lucky you didn’t deck him.’

‘I would’ve,’ Elena adds.

‘Well that ain’t sayin’ shit, Laney, you’d deck someone for a free pint.’

‘Alright, leave off,’ she replies, laughing. ‘I mean it though, I do think it’s rude. You hardly know the guy, like – if I was gonna pay for your food, that’s a different vibe. It’s friendly. But _him?_ It comes across as a bit _Save The Children_ , don’t it?’

‘He fucks you and thinks you’re his bitch now.’

‘Exactly,’ Elena says, nodding. ‘His _bitch_ , Tseng. You’re _nobody’s_ bitch.’

Tseng laughs and frowns at the same time.

‘I should hope not,’ he says. Tseng gestures to Rude, who looks pensive in contrast to Reno’s snarling. ‘You’re quiet, Rude.’

Rude scratches his head, frowns as if he’s nervous to share his opinion.

‘Maybe that’s just how he shows affection,’ Rude says thoughtfully, and Reno positively falls off his chest to scowl at him.

‘What?’

‘I don’t mean to defend him, but I mean – you see it in old movies and stuff. Sad aristocrats who have no friends, and feel like they have to buy them.’

That resonates with Tseng; Rufus’ showiness and frivolousness with money, all of Rufus’ attempts at being the party boy being so deliberate that they almost ring false. That thought’s interrupted as soon as it arrives though, by Reno blowing an enormous raspberry at the camera in disgust.

‘That’s the gayest shit I ever heard you say, man, and I been blowing you for the last three years.’

Elena shrieks with laughter, and Tseng follows suit, briefly covers his mouth.

‘I don’t know why you’re so pressed anyway,’ Reno adds. ‘He’s just a fuck, right?’

‘A fuck who turns up at the same supermarket while you’re there, just by coincidence,’ Rude says. 

Elena raises her eyebrows, grinning.

‘This is the closest we’ve ever gotten to Tseng having a _love interest_ ,’ she says.

‘Please stop,’ Tseng says, wincing. ‘I don’t wish to be included in this narrative.’

The others laugh, and Reno lights a cigarette.

‘Point is, T, if his dick is bomb he’s worth all this navel-gazing, and if it ain’t then don’t bother,’ Reno says sagely, blowing out a slow stream of smoke. ‘There _are_ ways to shut him up, y’know. Like gags, or –‘

'Sage life advice,’ Tseng says brusquely, and Rude and Elena laugh. ‘I’ll keep that in mind.’

His phone vibrates in his hand, a call alert appearing over the screen. It’s Rufus’ number.

‘Speak of the devil,’ Tseng says, apprehensively. ‘That’s him now.’

‘Answer it!’ Elena shrieks, Rude and Reno shooing him away.

‘God’s sake – fine –‘

‘And report back!’ Elena manages to get in edgeways as Tseng closes his laptop, answers his phone quickly.

Tseng presses the green call button, sighs a little before answering.

‘Hello?’

There is a silence.

‘Rufus, I swear, if this is just to fuck with me –‘

‘That sounded very Northern,’ Rufus says quietly. ‘I’d never noticed before.’

Tseng pauses, taken aback.

‘What? Yeah, I’m a Northerner,’ Tseng says. ‘I was on the phone with friends from home and it jumps out. Living here just squashes your accent into generic _Posh-Boy-Adjacent_.’

Rufus sighs at the other end of the phone, and Tseng sits quietly, tight-lipped.

‘I suppose I owe you an apology,’ Rufus says stiffly into the phone. It’s the most reserved Tseng has ever heard him.

Tseng _hm_ s into the phone, fiddles anxiously with his hair.

‘I’ll be honest with you, Tseng, when you stormed off like Maria Callas I did think you were being somewhat melodramatic,’ Rufus says. ‘But you looked like I’d reached out and hit you, or something. I don’t want to make you feel like that.’

Tseng can hear Rufus tapping his lighter against his desk.

‘You’re very pretty, and I like seeing you,’ Rufus says plainly, no usual seductive curl to the edge of his voice. ‘And perhaps I don’t understand properly, but I’m sorry anyway.’

‘When we first met, you said I had a chip on my shoulder,’ Tseng says quietly. ‘And you’re right, I do. It’s a fucking chasm. But it’s not – undeserved. I just get spiky about these things.'

‘Okay,’ Rufus says. ‘Well, like you said. I don’t really know much about you.’

‘That’s not on you,’ Tseng says. ‘ _My_ life isn’t on Wikipedia.’

‘I have a proposition,’ Rufus says, lets the last word hang off his tongue. ‘If you’re not still incandescent with rage, I suggest we go on another – outing –‘

‘You can say _date,_ it’s fine –‘

‘Another date, then,’ Rufus laughs. ‘But this time, you can choose what we do.’

Tseng sits for a moment, feels frustrated at his insides softening. Rufus had embarrassed him, with his cluelessness and his privilege, but Tseng couldn’t say in good conscience that Rufus was malicious. 

Tseng feels as if this is the first of many excuses he could make for Rufus Shinra.

‘You don’t pay,’ Tseng says, ‘For _anything_. That’s my condition.’

‘You drive a hard bargain,’ Rufus says, laughs down the phone. ‘I’d be honoured. Tomorrow?’

‘Saturday,’ Tseng says pointedly. ‘Some of us actually study during the week.’

'Saturday, then,' Rufus agrees, and Tseng suddenly has an image of Rufus sat alone in his room by the phone, lounging like a solitary alcoholic heiress. Damn Rude for putting that thought there. 

'I'll text you,' Tseng says, needs to actually think about what he can provide on a date with Rufus Shinra. 

'And there I was, expecting an invitation delivered by carrier pigeon -'

'You're on thin ice, Shinra,' Tseng says, and Rufus laughs.

'I tease rough.'

'Yeah, I _remember_ ,' Tseng replies, rubs his wrists.

They sit in silence for a moment, a temporary truce.

'I should go,' Tseng says, feels uncomfortable with the potential in the air. 'See you Saturday.'

'See you Saturday,' Rufus echoes, laughs delicately, but gets one final quip in before hanging up.

‘I can’t believe you looked me up on Wikipedia.’


	6. something changed

It’s ten to twelve and Tseng sits outside the steps of the Fitzwilliam, wearing a black turtleneck and his sleekest shoes from matriculation, an outfit he hopes is stylish enough for Rufus’ sensibilities. Tseng is early, because he is _always_ early, and it has absolutely nothing to do with him being awake at seven-am and feeling too stressed and restless to go to sleep again. 

Tseng, usually so organised and disciplined, realises on Friday that he has no idea what to do with Rufus, and spends the majority of his evening browsing through Trip Advisor pages with only one pound sign. The week has flown by jaw-droppingly quickly. It’s not that Tseng’s been avoiding thinking about today, it’s simply that it’s been a very _very_ hard week and he’s been busy with work and lectures and - no, he has _not_ been avoiding Elena’s texts on the matter, despite her protests.

_Welcome to your first budget date, Rufus Shinra_ , Tseng thinks wryly as he shifts on the stairs, rolls up his sleeves in the unseasonable warmth. Still, it beats rain, which in April is likely the alternative. Tseng checks his phone; already ten past. Tseng sighs, hardly expects Rufus to be on time but feels a little sore about it anyway. If Reno were here, he’d bust a gut laughing at Tseng’s emotional ineptitude.

Eventually, at around twenty-five past, Tseng recognises a familiar sedan pull up outside the gates, and out from the car emerges Rufus, in his usual customary white. Despite his lateness, he makes no effort to hurry, sauntering down the path to where Tseng is.

‘Afternoon,’ Rufus says, beaming, moves to kiss Tseng on the cheek. Tseng bristles like a hedgehog at the gesture, and Rufus simply laughs.

‘So,’ Rufus continues, looking round the grounds. ‘Where are we?’

Tseng resists the urge to point at the sign belligerently.

‘We are at the Fitzwilliam Museum,’ Tseng says, trying not to scour Rufus’ features for any judgement or disapproval. ‘They’ve got a few good exhibits on, so I thought it’d be a nice place to start. Broadening our cultural horizons, and all.’

_It’s also free entry,_ Tseng thinks, doesn’t add that part.

Rufus nods, smiles broadly.

‘You lead the way then, maestro.’

Tseng picks up his backpack from the stairs, and walks past pillars to the entrance. There's a different exhibit on each floor, and Tseng turns to Rufus, asks him which one piques his interest.

'Well, it's got to be that one on Saint Sebastian,' Rufus says, smirking. 'Truly the horniest of all saints.'

Tseng smiles, the tone of the day already set.

'You're speaking my language,' Tseng replies, dings the button for the lift.

The two of them pile into the lift, and Rufus smirks, moves to pin Tseng up against the door, his lips at Tseng's neck, before a foot appears, propping the door open. Rufus audibly groans with annoyance. The two of them pull apart, smile sheepishly as a middle aged woman with a handbag the size of a small dog enters the lift. Tseng does not allow himself to catch Rufus' eye, because once he does it'll be _over_ and they'll be cackling with laughter and unresolved tension. 

Instead, Tseng reaches past the woman to push the button for the third floor, and afterwards keeps his hands chastely to himself. After what feels like a lifetime, the lift stops, and Tseng and Rufus shuffle out quickly, finally allow themselves freedom to laugh.

'What is it with you and sexual encounters in confined spaces?' Tseng asks, and Rufus snorts, shakes his head. 

'If I had my way, we'd have carried on regardless,' Rufus says plainly.

'Good thing it's my call today,' Tseng says, feigns boredom. 'I'm actually here for the exhibition.'

'Ah yes, of course,' Rufus says, winks knowingly. 'Well, we mustn't keep you any longer.'

Tseng looks up for the signs, follows the arrows round to a large exhibition hall with an ornate domed ceiling. There's lots of art on the walls with attached information, but the centerpiece is striking even from the entrance; a statue of the Saint, wounds on his sternum and thighs, leaning back in ecstasy. _He looks like Rufus,_ Tseng thinks, and erases that thought as soon as it appears. He is not comparing Rufus Shinra to any deity, even in the safe confines of his imagination.

They wander round the exhibit, the youngest there by a considerable margin. Tseng is sure that people stare at Rufus a little too often for it to be a coincidence, but if Rufus is aware of it he doesn't say. Rufus looks up at the paintings with a strained face; it's an emotion that Tseng doesn't recognise. 

Eventually, they stop and take one of the few empty seats in front of the sculpture, Saint Sebastian looking down on them with a mixture of lust and piety.

Rufus crosses his legs, looks pensively up at the statue.

‘I’d have liked to have done art,’ he says quietly. ‘Sculpture, or something. I wasn’t half bad at it at school.’

Tseng resists the urge to quip about how of course Eton has fucking _sculpture classes_ , because Rufus looks genuinely quite sad. It doesn’t suit him. Instead, Tseng pushes his hair behind his ears and shuffles closer to Rufus, looks at him properly.

‘I guess you didn’t get much of a choice, eh?’

Rufus smiles wryly.

‘No, of course not. My tutor had as good as written my personal statement for PPE before I was sixteen.’ Rufus sighs, brushes hair from his eyes. ‘Not that I’m lamenting my life, not at all – it would just be nice to try something different.’

Tseng nods. At some level, aside from inheriting a company worth hundreds of millions, he can relate to that.

‘Guess your dad isn’t the arts and crafts type,’ Tseng says.

‘Not remotely,’ Rufus says, laughs hollowly. ‘Very much one of those fifties, _pull-yourself-up-by-your-bootstraps-lad_ kind of men.’

‘Sounds even more stubborn than you,’ Tseng teases.

‘Well, quite,’ Rufus says. ‘He’s narrow-minded about everything, not just culture. Absolutely no creativity or vision. The man developed solutions that _revolutionised_ how we use power in this country, but he’s content to sit on his arse and cash the cheques from it for the rest of his life. There’s so much _more_ we could be doing.’

Rufus speaks with a frustration and passion that Tseng knows like his own name. It transforms Rufus’ features into that of a leader, and Tseng watches him, lets him talk.

‘We could be looking at sustainability, global expansion, even charitable exploits - but Christ knows he’ll do none of that when it’s an extra thirty million for his retirement.’

‘Nobody should have that kind of money,’ Tseng says before he can stop himself, but to his surprise, Rufus nods.

‘Nobody should have that kind of money and waste it the way he does.’

Tseng feels a mixture of admiration and second-hand embarrassment, which sits weirdly in his stomach. From what Tseng’s seen of Rufus so far - brunches and champagne and frivolous costume parties - Rufus isn’t in a place to be giving anybody financial advice. But, Tseng thinks, his heart’s in the right place, and more notably, for once Rufus isn’t wearing his usual rich disinterested pout. His eyes are aflame; he _cares._

‘Sounds like it’ll be better off when you take over,’ Tseng says, smiling gently. 

‘I certainly hope so,’ says Rufus. ‘But knowing that stubborn old fuck, he’ll cling onto the assets until he’s ninety.’

‘Want me to kill him for you?’ Tseng teases, and Rufus laughs a high, plummy laugh that makes fellow art-goers turn and glare at them.

‘Oh, _would_ you?’ Rufus says. ‘That’d be a remarkable date.’

‘I’ll try my best,’ Tseng says, had forgotten for a moment that this is, in fact, a _date_. He feels his palms itch. ‘Can’t you like, bring him down from the inside or something? I mean, everyone knows about the rumours with Shinra in China –‘

‘And _where_ , my dear Tseng, do you think those rumours came from?’ Rufus says, so quietly it could be a whisper.

Tseng gasps, this time in genuine, unfiltered admiration.

‘You conniving little shit,’ Tseng says, grinning. ‘I think this might be the most attractive you’ve ever been.’

Rufus tosses his hair, winks for effect.

‘Much like you, Tseng, I try my best,’ Rufus says. ‘But enough about the incestuous machinations of my family. I want to see some _dinosaurs_.’

Rufus stands up with such abruptness that it makes Tseng snort with laughter. If Rufus wants to be a child for the afternoon, Tseng will certainly indulge him. They spend the best part of the afternoon in the museum where Rufus insists on wearing one of the cardboard hats for the children, a triceratops horn flattening his hair. 

Tseng rolls his eyes, but is secretly charmed. 

About an hour into their visit, Rufus gets recognised, which makes Tseng freeze in horror; but luckily, Rufus is a professional, smiles a practiced smile and says _of course you can have a selfie, my darling!,_ drapes his hat onto one of the girls who want a photo with him. They are very noisy, and Tseng hides behind a T-Rex, hoping he can blend sufficiently into the exhibit. 

Rufus waves as the gaggle of girls shuffle away from him, shrieking with excitement, and he laughs as he sees Tseng's legs poking out behind the dinosaur skeleton.

'This one is a _peculiar_ specimen,' Rufus says, as Tseng slowly re-emerges from his hiding place. 'Sorry about that. It's often quicker and easier to just acquiesce with these things.'

Tseng nods, still reeling at Rufus' shift from private personality to public persona. 

'I'm sure you know best,' Tseng says, knows it is hardly Rufus' fault that his very existence is hypervisible, but still feels put off anyway.

'Shall we continue?' Rufus says, offers Tseng his arm with an ease that suggests nothing ever happened. Tseng takes it quietly, may take a bit longer to process the emotional whiplash of the last five minutes.

It's not that Tseng forgets who Rufus is; his suits and mannerisms and predilection for champagne more expensive than Tseng's student loan remind him of how wealthy he is. The insistence of his friends that he's going on a date with Britain's definitive socialite - _the socialist and the socialite_ is the latest one from Rude - reminds him of how famous Rufus is.

But here, now, is the first time that Tseng sees Rufus through the eyes of another, through the eyes of adoration and genuine _celebrity_. It makes Tseng feel like a hollow appendage, like a handbag dog or a knock-off Chanel purse. 

There, again, insecurity nestles in his stomach, at how in comparison to Rufus, he is nobody. _For Christ's sake_ , Tseng tells himself. _You're having a lovely day. Don't go and spoil it_. 

'You know, I'm not sure I care to see any more skeletons,' Rufus says abruptly. 'When you've seen one, you've seen them all.'

'I'm sure palaeontologists would disagree,' Tseng says, and Rufus grins.

'Yes, well, unless they're all as threatening as Indiana Jones I shall say what I like,' Rufus says. 'Did you have any other plans for today?'

'Presumptuous,' Tseng says, no real malice in it. 'But yes.' 

'Excellent,' says Rufus. 'Then I'll have Veld bring the car around.'

Tseng sighs internally. He is hardly going to feel any more relaxed riding in the back of a car driven by a man who has now seen him fucking.

They walk down the spiral staircase to the exit, and Tseng tries his best not to let on how he looks at everyone around them, looks to see the faint glimmer of recognition as they recognise Rufus. Tseng's jaw tightens, wonders how Rufus stands it; but then, looking at him walking down the stairs, hair in his eyes, Tseng wonders if he can stand it much at all.

They reach the steps outside, and the car arrives on cue, rolling up in trademark quiet. Rufus extends a hand, brings Tseng into the back seat with him, and Tseng clambers in, nods uncomfortably at Veld in the rear view mirror.

Veld, to his credit, gives nothing away; simply nods as if they are acquaintances passing in the night.

'Well,' Rufus says, with an exhale so deep it fills the car. 'That was a strange experience.'

'Does it happen often?' Tseng asks.

'Only really at weekends, and only if I'm somewhere particularly touristy,' Rufus says. 'It doesn't happen on campus anymore, thankfully. My novelty sort of wore off by the end of first year.'

Tseng nods, grimacing.

'I understand now why you have the car.'

'Well now, that's just for convenience. And for quality conversation with Veld, of course,' Rufus smiles, waving at him from the back. 'Isn't that right?'

'Your conversation is stimulating, sir,' Veld says flatly, which makes both Rufus and Tseng laugh.

'Told you he was like you,' Rufus says to Tseng. 'Anyway, my sharp little friend. Where exactly are you taking us?'

Tseng leans forward, tells Veld where abouts he'd like them to be dropped off, hopes the explanation is even remotely helpful. The car slows to a halt as they reach a lull in traffic near Jesus, and Rufus swears and pouts the way he does whenever he's minorly inconvenienced.

'Fucking Cambridge,' he says, scowls in his seat.

'Could always have gone to Oxford,' Tseng says, teasing. 'Or Durham, or Exeter, or America, or Paris, or anywhere.'

'Yes,' Rufus says, more icy than is friendly. 'Thank you for the reminder.'

'Why here, then?' Tseng asks more seriously, is genuinely interested.

'Oh Christ, I don't know,' Rufus says, waves his hand dismissively. 'It's far away enough from Father, and I wanted some time to fuck about for a few years before a lifetime of boardrooms.’

Tseng flinches, feels like he’s been gutted with a knife made of resentment.

‘So Cambridge is just -‘ Tseng says, tries to keep his expression placid - ‘just _fucking about_ for you?’

Rufus shrugs, smiles innocently. 

'I thought you valued honesty.’

Tseng has to forcibly clamp his lips together to keep from huffing in disdain, the sympathy he'd had for Rufus and the trappings of fame slowly dwindling. _Fucking about for a bit_ , says Rufus, as if Tseng didn't spend every waking moment studying and polishing his personal statement, working part time to buy his train ticket for interview, could barely even afford the fucking UCAS fee -

'Is this the place, sir?'

Tseng forces himself out of his spiral, looks out the window and recognises the spot, nods to Rufus.

'That's it,' Rufus says, waits for Veld to pull over before pulling Tseng out the car with him.

'So where are we?' Rufus asks again, coquettishly fluttering his eyelashes.

_You know full well where we are_ , Tseng thinks, but instead simply smiles, gestures for Rufus to follow him. Tseng leads the way over to the river, under a secluded cluster of trees that drape their branches over the water, providing gentle shade from the heat. It’s quiet here, round the back of King’s, roughly over the river from where the two of them had their first encounter. _Encounter_ , Tseng thinks with a smile. _That’s whitewashing it into something far more romantic than a blowjob._

From his backpack, he pulls out a plastic bag, and shakes it for effect, hears a clank of cans. 

‘Tinnies by the river,’ Tseng says, with a flourish. ‘A classic summer dating activity, or so I’m told.’

Rufus smiles, looks at his white trousers and then the grass pointedly. Tseng rolls his eyes, takes his jacket off and places it on the floor for Rufus to sit on.

‘Thank you,’ Rufus says, unlaces his brogues and sits cross-legged on Tseng’s coat, folding his feet in like he’s meditating. ‘This is nice.’

‘I even got the M&S ones,’ Tseng says, raising his eyebrows. ‘Don’t say I don’t try to impress you.’

Tseng cracks one open and passes it over to Rufus, who sips gingerly at it, but makes a pleasantly surprised face.

‘That isn’t bad at all,’ Rufus says appreciatively, and Tseng smiles.

‘I told you,’ Tseng says. ‘They’re the real shit.’

Tseng opens a can of his own, sips from it and leans back, runs tired hands through his hair. 

‘Now, is it safe for you to be out here unattended? Any fangirls I should be aware of?' Tseng asks, only half joking.

‘I told you before,’ Rufus says, smiling. ‘I’m relying on you to protect me.’

‘Good luck with that,’ Tseng says with a laugh, follows suit in removing his shoes.

The light is dappled through the branches of the trees, casting Rufus’ face half in light, half in shadow. Tseng is briefly taken with how stunning he is, and wonders how much easier all this would be if Rufus wasn’t from an unimaginable world.

‘I thought you were going to tell me more about yourself on this date of ours,’ Rufus says, interrupting Tseng’s daydreaming. ‘So far, you’ve been frustratingly aloof.’

‘Sorry,’ Tseng says instinctively. ‘I don’t mean to be, I’m just – not really the interesting one.’

‘You do yourself a disservice and you _know_ it,’ Rufus says, almost sternly. ‘I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t interested.’

Tseng considers that for a moment, isn’t quite sure whether he believes Rufus; but takes him at face value anyway.

‘Well, I’m from Sheffield, and I have four sisters, and a mum, and a dad who died when I was tiny,’ Tseng says, his face plain. ‘I’m the oldest, Mei’s a year younger, and the other three are still in secondary school.’

‘They don’t mind that you’re gay?’ Rufus asks, almost too casually.

‘I live with four persistent, perceptive teenage girls,’ Tseng says, laughing. ‘I’m pretty sure they knew long before I did.’

‘And – your ethnicity,’ Rufus asks gently, and immediately looks sheepish. ‘Is that –‘

‘It’s fine,’ Tseng says. ‘You didn’t start the sentence with a ‘where are you from _really_ ,’ so you’re already doing better than most.’

Rufus nods, smiles gingerly.

‘Mixed,’ Tseng says. ‘My mum’s white, my dad was Chinese. But then, my dad hasn’t been around for the last twenty years, so as far as culture goes, _your_ dad probably has more Chinese in him than I do.’

‘Tseng!’ Rufus says, gasps in mock horror. ‘Was that a joke about my father’s untoward _business interests_?’

‘Perhaps,’ Tseng says, brown eyes crinkling. ‘Thought you might appreciate it.’

‘I did,’ Rufus says, briefly nestles his head into Tseng’s hair. ‘Very much.’

Tseng tries his best not to stiffen at the unexpected contact, instead tries his best to lean into it and relax. He knows how to be distant, and he knows how to be physical – but intimacy, that weird liminal space between closeness and affection, is foreign to him. 

Instead of thinking more about it, Tseng finishes his drink, places the empty can back in his bag.

‘Want another?’ Tseng asks Rufus.

‘I thought you’d never ask,’ Rufus replies, picks another from the bag, shifts away from Tseng for which he is immediately grateful. ‘Anyway, that was your past. What about your future?’

‘What?’ Tseng asks.

‘You graduate soon, don’t you? Fourth year,’ Rufus says, and Tseng blinks, is surprised he’s remembered. 

‘Well, at the minute I’m focusing on getting my degree, then applying for stuff more seriously when my exams are over,’ Tseng says. ‘But I’ve sent a few applications off already, Civil Service stuff, you know.’

‘What do you _want_ to do?’ Rufus asks, more sharply. 

‘I want a job of any kind,’ Tseng says, sincerely. ‘I mean, I _need_ a job. I can’t really go back to my mum’s, it’s busy enough as it is at the minute, and –‘

‘In an ideal world,’ Rufus says, cuts him off, and Tseng frowns. _Like your world, you mean_ , Tseng thinks, somewhat bitterly.

‘In an ideal, hypothetical world, I’d work in counter-terrorism, surveillance, that kind of thing,’ Tseng says, looks down sheepishly. ‘It’s what’s most interesting to me.’

Rufus nods, looks him up and down with a studious expression.

‘You know, I _do_ have a contact at GCHQ –‘

‘Don’t you _dare_ ,’ Tseng says, more heavily than he intends. ‘You know full well that’s not my way of doing things.’

‘Don’t I just,’ Rufus says, stiffly. ‘You’re possibly the only person I’ve ever met more stubborn than I am.’

‘It’s not that I don’t appreciate it, Rufus, I do,’ Tseng says quietly. ‘I just – I don’t want to be in a position to accept hand-outs from you. It’s the power dynamic of it, you know?’

‘You don’t want to be my kept man,’ Rufus says, somewhat coldly.

‘Well, yes,’ Tseng says plainly. ‘It’s not just my pride. I _am_ independent, probably to a fault, but that’s the only way I’ve ever known how to live. Nobody’s ever been there to offer help before.’ And then, more quietly, he says, ‘Not like you have.’

‘It’s not a crime to accept help from friends,’ Rufus says, shrugging his shoulders. ‘The offer’s open.’

Tseng winces a little at Rufus’ nonchalance. 

‘It is a _bit_ of a crime to have friends who can get you to higher places though, don’t you think?’

Rufus stares at Tseng, as if he’s touched a nerve.

‘That’s just the way the world works, Tseng.’

‘Maybe for you,’ Tseng replies, does not look Rufus in the eyes. 

There is a silence, where Tseng drinks more in a thirty-second interval than is probably healthy. 

‘Perhaps there are just some things we’re not going to agree on,’ Rufus says, with a smile that looks so polished it almost gives Tseng whiplash. ‘That doesn’t mean we can’t continue seeing one another.’

Tseng smiles back, does not reply. There are many, many things he could disagree with Rufus Shinra about, many of them life-altering and irrevocable. 

‘I suppose,’ Tseng says, smiling half-heartedly. He finishes his second can, places it back into his bag with a gentle clank. Behind him, Rufus lays out on the floor, curling up in Tseng's coat in the sunshine. 

'It's so refreshing, talking to you,' Rufus says contentedly, seemingly prompted by nothing. Tseng smiles uneasily, fiddles with his sleeves.

'What do you mean?' Tseng asks.

'You're so - straightforward,' Rufus says, purses his lips as if he's choosing his words precisely. 'You've seen now how people tend to react when they meet me. There was none of that with you.'

Tseng hesitates, remembers Rude on the phone, pictures Rufus' imagined solitary life. He imagines Rufus as the kind of person who feels like an object.

'Yeah, well,' Tseng says, shrugs for effect. 'Guess I didn't think you were anything impressive.'

Rufus looks at him, and beams.

'That's more of a compliment than you can possibly imagine,' Rufus says, leans closer to Tseng in the dwindling sunlight. 'Thank you.'

Tseng hesitates, knows this is one of those moments where he can nod and accept the compliment, or he can decide to be uncharacteristically bold. Maybe it’s the gin and tonic in his head, maybe it’s the way Rufus’ eyes are magnetic in the light, but like Rufus says – he’s graduating soon. This will be a memory in a year or two, and the way Rufus wounds him so casually will have faded. He can leave all this behind if he fucks it up. For once, he wants to live a little more like Rufus, selfishly, with no fear of consequence.

'I think I'd like to kiss you, this time,' Tseng says, looks down at the ground chastely. 'No matter who sees.'

Rufus laughs, a loud plummy trill that echoes.

‘That’s an _excellent_ suggestion,' he says. ‘Couldn't have come up with anything better myself.’

‘As always, Rufus, I think you should be quiet.’

Tseng brushes his own hair behind his ears, leans in to kiss Rufus, hands holding either side of Rufus’ face gently. Rufus moans softly into his mouth, drapes his arms around Tseng's neck, as fluent at kissing as he is at everything else. Tseng tastes gin and old cigarettes on Rufus' tongue, feels heat rising in his body.

'King's is just there, if you want -'

'Excuse you,' Rufus says, laughing. 'I thought this was _your_ date? Surely then, you should extend the invitation back to your place.'

Tseng scowls, tenses like a tightly wound spring. 

'If you want,' Tseng says, feigns nonchalance. 'Only if you can manage waiting that long.'

It's nothing to do with a sudden anxiety about Rufus seeing how he lives. Nothing to do with that at all.

'My patience might not rival yours, but I'll try my best,' Rufus says, smiling. 'To the car?'

Tseng stares at him, gone out.

'If I didn't know any better at this point, I'd say having your security watch us fuck gets you off.'

'You don't know that it doesn't,' Rufus chortles, as he puts on his shoes, dusts himself off. 'You'll just have to trust me.'

_Trust me_ , Tseng thinks. Like that's something he knows how to do.

For Rufus, he supposes he's willing to try.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very Important Update: my pal mechewchew (also [here on AO3](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeChewChew/pseuds/MeChewChew)) drew [rufus and tseng in their date outfits](https://twitter.com/mechewchew/status/1311319142855778306?s=19)!! aren't they lovely??!
> 
> because this fic wasn't gay enough already, i decided to make them go to an exhibition about saint sebastian, truly the gayest of all saints. this is actually based off an exhibition that is currently on right now at the fitzwilliam in cambridge, so if you ever go, you are now legally obligated to tell me thanks
> 
> my headcanon for tseng's family in this particular AU is only briefly mentioned here, but if you're interested: this tseng shares a father with his sister mei, and his three younger siblings (two of who are twins) have a different dad, who has since left. as a result tseng has a real case of oldest sibling syndrome, feels very Responsible as the Man Of The House, despite how archaic he'd think that if you ever said it to him out loud (and also my man isn't white, but you already knew that)
> 
> surveillance and counter-terrorism were the closest disciplines to Turk Work that i thought worked with this tseng's interests and career trajectory... again, this doesn't translate perfectly but you win some you lose some
> 
> also now i want a G&T from M&S, rip
> 
> if you are reading this then i am very grateful to you! a particular shout out to the lidl fans on twitter dot com who were very excited about the last chapter. also can you believe we've had three whole chapters and no porn???? some coming (wink) next time, i promise


	7. feeling called love

Incredibly, Rufus manages to go a solid ten minutes without his hands on Tseng.

Rufus sits fidgeting like he's fuelled by electricity, his body acting like Tseng's is feeling. The energy between them is palpable, and Tseng crosses his legs, nervous and wanting.

They pull up outside the familiar red-brick of Homerton, and for a split second, Tseng entertains the idea of fabricating an emergency that requires them to turn the car around. Already though, Rufus is halfway out the car, and Tseng sucks in a breath, follows suit, commits to crossing this imagined threshold.

Rufus looks up and down, round the courtyard. Tseng shifts uncomfortably, fiddles with his backpack.

'My room is round the back here,' Tseng says, gesturing round the side of the building. 'Do you want to -'

'Getting right down to it, are we?' Rufus teases, tosses his hair. 'I like your style. Have I got time for a smoke first?'

Tseng nods, tries his best not to appear wired. In the car, he'd thought Rufus was as stressed as he was; turns out he just needs a cigarette. It seems hardly fair that Rufus is able to read Tseng the way he does, and Tseng seems to miss every time.

Rufus reaches for his lighter, pulls a sleek black box of cigarettes from his jacket pocket. The filters are gold and are fancier than any cigarette Tseng’s ever seen, used to Reno and Rude’s shoddy roll ups.

‘Want one?’ Rufus asks, lights his with a practiced ease.

‘Smokers are jokers,’ Tseng says disapprovingly, before laughing gently. ‘Go on then.’

Rufus hands one to Tseng, gestures for him to lean in against the flicker of flame. Tseng lights his cigarette, inhales and doesn't cough, feels somewhat accomplished seeing as he hasn't smoked since he was about nineteen.

'Suits you,' Rufus says admiringly.

'You would say that,' Tseng replies, exhales a string of smoke. 'You want me to succumb to all your vices.'

'I forget,' Rufus grimaces, tapping ash to the floor. _'You_ don't have any.'

‘Don’t you count?’ Tseng asks. ‘Demanding, time-consuming, never letting me get any work done.’

‘An addictive substance, eh?’ Rufus says, makes a show of exhaling with a flourish. ‘I’ve had more backhanded compliments. Mostly from you, I’ll admit.’

Rufus against the light of the courtyard is all angles, his cheekbones dark and hollow, his hands like a Schiele painting. In the light, he looks intoxicating, and is close enough to touch.

Fuelled by his boldness earlier, it’s Tseng who takes the initiative, has seen Reno do this to Rude enough times that it should come naturally. He inhales smoke into his mouth, closes the distance between him and Rufus and strokes his hair, strokes his face as he exhales smoke into Rufus’ mouth.

Rufus laughs, surprised, parts his lips wider and kisses Tseng fully, tongue slipping into Tseng’s mouth. It tastes ashy and warm, and is a smell Rufus loves.

Tseng pulls back, a quiet smile on his face. 

‘See?’ Tseng says, takes one last drag before stubbing his cigarette under his boot. ‘Your influence.’

Rufus stares at him with dark, lascivious eyes.

'I think you should show me to your room now.'

Tseng leads him across the courtyard, across a sea of seventies new-builds, all red and grey concrete. He fumbles at the door for his passkey, distracted by Rufus' hands round his waist, and swats Rufus away as he tries to scan it against the reader. Eventually, the door opens, and they make it into the brown-carpeted foyer that smells distinctly of alcohol and weed. Tseng leads Rufus to his room, hardly lets Tseng open the door before his lips are at Tseng's throat.

Tseng mutters a _Christ's sake_ as he gets the door open, pushes Rufus through into his room and tries his best not to look anxious.

'So,' Rufus says, looking round at Tseng's shoebox room and creaking single bed. 'This is where the magic happens, eh?'

Tseng kisses him properly, partially to distract him from looking too closely but largely because he wants to, has been staring at Rufus lounging in the sun all afternoon and is desperate for him. There’s freckles on his nose and cheeks where he’s caught the sun, and Tseng’s stomach twists in sudden affection.

Rufus kisses him back, fists his hands in Tseng’s hair, and Tseng gasps at the sensation; usually he hates having his hair touched, but as with all things, it’s different when Rufus does it. Rufus tugs a fistful of hair back, exposing Tseng’s throat, and Tseng moans as Rufus kisses him down his neck, bites bruises in that make him whine. Immediately, Tseng bites his lip shut, an embarrassed tinge rising to his ears and cheeks. Rufus hums, satisfied at the noise.

‘You’re so much nicer when you let _go,'_ Rufus says, smiling. ‘You don’t have to be stoic with me, not here.’

Tseng nods slowly, pulls his hair back over his shoulder, presents it to Rufus.

‘Then – uh – do that again. Please,’ Tseng says, sheepishly, and Rufus’ face lights up. He twists Tseng’s hair round his wrist, pulls tight, and the sound that comes from Tseng’s throat is raw, loud and wanting.

‘Fuck,’ Rufus says, admiringly. ‘That’s it.’

They kiss, Tseng moaning into Rufus’ mouth as he attempts to force one of Rufus’ many layers open, a buttoned jacket and pullover and shirt all in the way of his warmth, his skin. Tseng’s hands are impatient, fumbling with the buttonholes, and he’d be much more adept at this if Rufus didn’t keep kissing him there, at the spot above his collarbone that makes him instantly hard. Tseng bucks up into Rufus’ lap, tries to fuck himself through his trousers against Rufus’ thighs, and Rufus smirks, laughs into Tseng’s mouth.

‘Well, well,’ Rufus says. ‘That really didn’t take long, did it?’

‘Shut up,’ Tseng mutters, and never allowing the opportunity for the upper hand to pass him by, adds ‘You’re so much nicer when you’re quiet.’

Rufus smiles, kisses him deeply, makes light work of Tseng’s t-shirt as he pulls it over Tseng’s head. Tseng is still on layer number one, and as Rufus’ hands meet Tseng’s to help him unbutton it, they laugh together, muffled by skin against skin.

‘Every god damn time,’ Tseng says, smiling, all their encounters punctuated by suits or expensive fabrics. ‘Please stop dressing for the occasion and start dressing for my convenience.’

‘Not on your life,’ Rufus says. ‘Unwrapping the present is part of the fun.’

‘It’s me or the suits,’ Tseng says, teasing, knows without a doubt the suits would win. 

‘That’s a dangerous game to play, Tseng,’ Rufus says, voice low, and _god_ Tseng needs him out of his clothes already.

‘I want dangerous,’ Tseng says, would grimace at the line if Rufus’ mouth wasn’t already on his, Rufus shuffling out of his shirtsleeves and throwing his clothes unceremoniously to the floor. Rufus kisses Tseng on his neck again, at _that_ spot bruised beyond belief, and leans over Tseng, lowering the two of them to Tseng’s creaking bed.

Tseng kisses Rufus’ chest, flicks his tongue around one of Rufus’ nipples, which makes him whine even louder than usual. Smirking to himself, Tseng carries on showering him with attention, sucking and biting gently at Rufus until he’s panting heavily, until Tseng can feel him hard against his stomach.

Rufus is more impatient than usual, unfastens his belt and pulls his trousers and pants off in one fluid motion. He quickly follows suit with Tseng’s trousers, while Tseng carries on teasing him, landing a few bruises of his own on Rufus as recompense. Rufus wraps his legs around Tseng’s, grinds his hips against Tseng and moans as their cocks thrust together, Tseng gasping against Rufus’ chest as need pools between his thighs.

Rufus smirks, pulls Tseng’s hair tight again.

‘You want to get fucked?’ Rufus asks, and Tseng nods, gasps as Rufus rubs his cock against Tseng pointedly. Even Rufus’ voice with all its round vowels sounds seductive right now, and Tseng nods breathlessly, whispers _yes_ into the crook of Rufus’ neck.

‘Then you’ll have to ask me nicely,’ Rufus says in his cloying sing-song voice, and Tseng could positively rip his head off with frustration.

‘Come off it, Rufus –‘

'It's perfectly straightforward,' Rufus says. 'I know how much you hate to ask for things, but it's good for you.'

‘You’re _such_ a cunt –‘

‘Oh, I like that,’ Rufus says, smirking. ‘Dirty suits you. But don’t think I'll let you snarl your way out of it.'

‘Rufus –‘ Tseng manages, through gritted teeth, ‘ _please_.’

Rufus smiles at Tseng like he’s about to devour him whole.

‘Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?’

Rufus palms Tseng’s cock quickly, dizzyingly fast until he finds a rhythm that makes Tseng bite his mouth shut, makes him exhale shaky breaths through his nose. Tseng kisses Rufus against his jaw, his neck, his shoulder, positively bites him as Rufus lets go.

‘Have you got supplies?’ Rufus asks, aims for seductive. Tseng snorts.

‘ _Supplies_ ,’ he copies, attempts Rufus’ accent. ‘Yeah, lube’s here, hang on –‘

Tseng shuffles down the bed, opens the bottom drawer of his bedside table to reach for a pack of condoms and lube, which he sheepishly remembers hasn’t been opened since he got them at the sexual health stand on a night out in second year. They come complete with glowing sperm keyring, which Tseng immediately throws back into the back of the drawer, mortified.

‘Here,’ Tseng says, throws them to Rufus, grimaces at the thought of displaying any relative sexual inexperience. Tseng’s not the vulnerable one here, that’s not how this works. Rufus gets to work behind him, feels the cold slick of lube against his entrance and sucks in a breath as he feels Rufus' finger enter him.

'Good boy,' Rufus says, and if Tseng weren't facing away from him, face almost in his pillow, he'd have rolled his eyes at the patronising little shit. Rufus adds another finger, eases Tseng into it slowly, his breath staggering a little as Rufus pushes in to the knuckle.

Tseng does not - _will_ not - buck back into his hand, because he is stubborn and disciplined and almost sober now, or at least he won't until Rufus curls his hand in just the right way and hits Tseng's prostate. Tseng positively sinks into the bed with a moan, thighs shaking, and from above him, he can hear Rufus laughing, proud and accomplished.

'Look at you,' Rufus says fondly. 'My desperate little Tseng.'

'Shut up,' Tseng says, muffled, bites down on his lip as another finger enters him. 'Just do it already.'

'You know the rules,' Rufus teases, curls his fingers inside Tseng until Tseng is audibly whimpering.

 _'Please,_ ' Tseng snarls, and Rufus smiles serenely, pushes the tip of his cock into Tseng. 'Oh, Christ -'

Rufus fucks Tseng torturously slowly, his hips slow and methodical as Tseng comes apart below him. Tseng thrusts erratically against Rufus, trying to fuck himself harder, faster, but Rufus laughs cruelly, holds Tseng's hips firmly and takes his time, milks every moan and quiver out of Tseng. 

'You're beautiful like this,' Rufus says, voice low and thrilling. 'Undone, relaxed - wanting things.'

Tseng opens his mouth to respond, but simply moans as Rufus thrusts into him, hard. Rufus reaches between Tseng's thighs, palms his cock in the same infuriatingly slow rhythm, and Tseng shivers, feels his stomach tense as he approaches the edge. 

'Please,' Tseng says again, plainly, and Rufus quickens his pace, fucks into Tseng harder, holds his hips tight enough to bruise. 'Like that - _fuck_ -'

Tseng comes into Rufus' hand with a ragged cry, his legs quaking, would collapse if not for Rufus holding him so tightly. Rufus finishes himself inside Tseng, moves quick and hard and whispers praise into Tseng's back, _so good so tight_ , until Tseng feels Rufus come inside him, warmth and then a sudden absence as Rufus pulls out.

Tseng rolls over, panting and sweaty. Rufus flicks his condom over to the bin, lies down next to Tseng, cards soft hands through his hair. 

'You're an absolute miracle, you know that?' says Rufus, brushes sticky hair from Tseng's cheek.

'You're not bad yourself,' Tseng says, catching his breath. 'That was an experience.'

Rufus rolls over and poses, cocks his hips like a Renaissance nude and Tseng can’t help but smile. He finds himself caught up in the absurdity of all of this. Two weeks ago, lying post-coital with a day-drunk Rufus Shinra would be unimaginable. Yet here he is, and here Tseng is, feeling the closest he’s felt to affectionate for anybody ever in his life.

That feels dangerous to admit to himself, but damn if it isn’t true, as Rufus strokes a hand down Tseng’s stomach, kisses him delicately on the forehead. Tseng breathes in Rufus’ scent, all musk and cedarwood, and holds him back, wraps an arm around his shoulders. Stripped of all his artifice, all his clothes and bravado, Rufus feels like a _person_ , a normal fucking person same as Tseng, same as anyone.

 _This is the closest we’ve ever gotten to Tseng having a love interest_.

Tseng tries to relax into it, tries to enjoy the moment. Rufus wriggles, scowling, trying not to fall off the bed.

‘It’s not the most conducive bed to spoon in, is it?’ Rufus says, grinning. Tseng smiles weakly, tries not to think of it as a failing on his part.

‘Maybe it’s to deter people from fucking,’ Tseng says, shrugging. ‘Not that it works.’

‘Well, quite,’ Rufus says. ‘My apologies to your neighbours.’

‘You don’t need to apologise to them,’ Tseng says. ‘If anything, this is payback for an entire year of being stuck next door to a grunter.’

‘Classy,’ Rufus says, smiles.

‘Like that’s not you holed up in your sex suite at King’s,’ Tseng teases.

‘I decline to comment,’ Rufus says prissily, brushes hair from his eyes. ‘Anyhow, we should probably get ourselves cleaned up.’ 

Rufus rolls over, sits up and looks around the room blankly.

‘Where’s your bathroom?’

‘Down the hall,’ Tseng says, waves a tired hand. 

‘You _share_ a bathroom?’ Rufus says, sounding scandalised. Tseng feels a tightness return to his stomach.

‘Yes,’ Tseng says plainly. 

‘With how many people?’ Rufus asks.

‘Everyone on the downstairs floor,’ Tseng says, tries to count the rooms in his head. ‘Twelve or so?’

‘Oh,’ Rufus says, sounds wholly disappointed. ‘And that’s - that’s normal, is it?’

‘You’re joking,’ Tseng says, laughing, and rolls over to see Rufus’ face, stricken and serious. ‘Yes, it’s perfectly normal. I promise you won’t catch anything.’

‘What if somebody recognises me?’ Rufus asks.

Tseng laughs uneasily.

‘I mean, you might get a post on Crushbridge about you,’ Tseng says, ‘but that’s about it. _R.S Spotted In The Homerton Toilets, or_ something.’

Rufus nods, perches on the edge of the bed.

‘It’s either that or piss in the sink,’ Tseng says, more sharply than he intends. ‘Although I’d rather you didn’t do that.’

‘Right, yes,’ Rufus says, stands up decisively, gestures at Tseng’s dressing gown. ‘Can I borrow this?’

‘Go for it,’ Tseng says, privately appreciates the thought of Rufus Shinra emerging dishevelled in Tseng’s dressing gown. Rufus puts it on, gingerly opens the door and lets it shut behind him with a thunk.

Tseng shakes his head, half in amusement, half in disbelief. Granted, Tseng has a warped sense of what personal space is, sharing a two up two down house with five others, but Rufus had looked like a dog trying to walk on its hind legs, apprehensive and juddery. It’s amusing to Tseng how Rufus can coordinate strategic projects across an entire region, but clams up when he has to do something as simple as navigate his way to the loo. 

The door slams open, announcing Rufus’ return.

‘Right,’ Rufus says, brushing down the front of Tseng’s gown. ‘That wasn’t as fruity as I expected.’

‘They do get cleaned, you know,’ Tseng says, smiling weakly. ‘We don’t live in shit.’

‘No, of course not!’ Rufus protests. ‘I didn’t mean it that way at all, it’s simply - a different college experience for me.’

‘Pleased to be part of your cultural education,’ Tseng says. 

Rufus sits down next to Tseng, buries half his face in the black towel-like fabric.

‘I did it again, didn’t I?’ Rufus says, pouting. ‘Showed my stupidity.’

Tseng sighs, places a hand on Rufus’ knee.

‘It’s new for you, I get it,’ Tseng says generously. ‘And I get that you’re trying, you’re just - sometimes it feels like you’re from another planet.’

Tseng means it, and sighs, feels a mixture of confusion and lust and disappointment in his chest. Tseng feels attached to Rufus, but as soon as Tseng feels genuine, unfiltered affection for him, Rufus will say something so oblivious that it makes Tseng’s chest ache. 

Again, Tseng finds himself making excuses for Rufus Shinra. Tseng wonders what it says about him that he puts up with it.

Rufus smiles, juts his chin forward. 

'I'm absolutely the most charming alien you've ever seen, I'm sure,' he says.

'Uh-huh,' Tseng says, nods reluctantly. 'The most talkative alien, certainly.'

Rufus smiles, rests his head into Tseng's shoulder.

'What time is it?' Rufus asks, looks at his phone. 'I'm exhausted all of a sudden.'

'Must be about ten,' Tseng guesses. 'Coming up to my bedtime.'

Rufus looks at him uncertainly, like he can't tell if it's a joke or not. 

'Fine by me,' Rufus says, undoing Tseng's dressing gown. 'I mean, I am staying the night, aren't I?'

Tseng thinks of Rufus huddling close to Tseng in his uncomfortable bed, trying his best to make room for the two of them, and feels quietly moved.

'Sure,' Tseng says. 'Tight squeeze, but you're welcome.'

'I don't mind roughing it for the night,' Rufus teases. 'Not with you.'

Tseng declines to comment, is tired and is secretly looking forward to Rufus holding him close. Instead, he lifts his dressing gown from Rufus' shoulders and reaches to turn the light off, clambers into the bed and allows Rufus to wrap limbs around him like Rufus is climbing an obnoxiously shaped tree.

'This better not be when I find out you snore,' Tseng says, in the dark, and feels Rufus laughing into the crook of his neck.

\--

Tseng jolts awake at seven by instinct, the way he does every morning. Unlike every other morning though, today he jolts into the sharp shoulder blades of Rufus Shinra, who, true to form, has taken up a solid three quarters of the bed, his legs splayed over Tseng’s. Tseng should be irritated at Rufus taking up space, should be irritated with the ache in his back where Tseng’s almost fallen out the bed, but for whatever reason, he isn’t. He feels decidedly soft, and smiles into Rufus’ back before gently disentangling himself. He reaches for his phone, makes sure it’s on silent so as not to wake Rufus, and flicks through his messages absently. There are a lot of memes at Tseng’s expense.

 _He hasn’t replied!!!_ Elena sends, can positively hear her excitement from here. _He is absolutely getting railed right now._

Reno simply replies with an image that reads _god I wish that were me._

Tseng shakes his head, laughing. 

_You’re here in spirit, Reno_ , Tseng replies, grinning. _I won’t tell Rude._

Elena’s icon immediately springs to life.

_So you DID get laid!!_

_Guilty,_ Tseng replies, the less he gives away the better.

 _pics or it didnt happen,_ Reno sends.

A spiteful part of Tseng thinks _yeah, go on then_ , and he rolls over, holds his phone close to Rufus’ sleeping face, takes a photo quickly. Tseng is about to send it, before he looks at it properly, looks at how serene Rufus looks and decides against it. His eyelashes are light against his cheeks, and his hair is mussed and golden in the half-light. Selfishly, Tseng wants to keep this part of Rufus to himself. 

_Guess it didn’t happen then,_ Tseng sends, and puts his phone down. It’s still only seven, and it’s a Sunday morning; he can justify staying in bed for another hour or so.

He can justify staying with Rufus for another hour or so.

\--

Companionship starts to sit easier on Tseng.

He doesn’t realise at first just how much time he spends with Rufus now, how Veld barely even glares at him as he gets in the car, how Rufus even meets him after classes or at the library. It feels nice having company for once, so much of Tseng’s Cambridge experience alone walking the streets or watching the sun go down from the library windows. Tseng wonders if this is just human instinct, attaching to the first person in a long time to show him genuine kindness, questions every now and again in the darkness of his room how this - relationship, for lack of a better word, can be genuine.

Then again, Tseng knows he cares deeply for Rufus, but he wouldn’t say he likes Rufus all the time. His carelessness sets Tseng’s teeth on edge, his lack of care for the future and his predilection for expensive frivolities all qualities Tseng resents. But then, Rufus will ask him something very simple, a _how was your day?_ or something equally simple, and Tseng will flock to him like a lost puppy. He doesn’t recognise it on himself.

Rufus will take him apart, make him beg for the slightest touch, and Tseng can’t say he resents it at all.

Rufus is keen to make sure Tseng gets the full Cambridge experience before he graduates, which apparently includes a bar crawl of all the college bars, attending at least one black-tie event (ticked off the list), and going punting at least once. Tseng flat out refuses the first one, does not want to imagine how much Rufus could spend in _thirty-one_ different bars, and punting is very much the sort of thing he associates with students who wear tweed and tourists who do not.

As with all things, it’s different when Rufus asks him. This is how Tseng justifies it to himself, as Rufus takes him by the hand to go punting on the River Cam, a bottle of champagne in tow. 

Rufus takes the lead as always, stands at the front of the boat pushing the stick - _a quant pole_ , Rufus corrects him - into the riverbed, propelling them forward. Rufus drapes a cardigan round his shoulders, and his sleeves are rolled up, showing tanned muscular forearms that could fool a person into thinking he's accustomed to manual labour. The look suits him, and Tseng leans back and enjoys the view.

The actual view is nice too, he supposes; light disappearing from the surface of the green-grey river as they pass under the Bridge of Sighs. Rufus gestures for the bottle, and Tseng passes it to him, says _don't drink and punt._ Rufus does not take his advice, and wobbles perilously as he tries to pull the pole a little too vigorously.

'I'm not jumping in to save you,' says Tseng, knows in his heart of hearts that quite embarassingly, he would. Rufus seems to know it too, in the way he smiles back at Tseng, mouth smirking but eyes soft.

Rufus keeps punting along the river, and Tseng keeps drinking, passing the bottle back and forth between them. Tseng does not allow himself to think about what a parody of a Cambridge cunt he is right now, because despite all his reservations he is having fun, is enjoying looking up at the blue sky and at the ripples in the water and at the beautiful boy in front of him. Eventually, Rufus pulls them over to the side of the river, sticking the pole in deep enough for a makeshift mooring, and sits down opposite Tseng delicately.

'You do know we have to go back, don't you?' Tseng says, smiling.

'I paid for the afternoon,' Rufus says, smiling. 'And I plan on making the most of it.'

'Look at you, Mr. Frugal,' Tseng grins, handing Rufus the champagne.

'Must be rubbing off on me,' Rufus says back, takes a generous swig and wipes his mouth slowly, deliberately, gives Tseng a look with dark eyes that he immediately recognises.

'Oh come on,' Tseng says, snorts unceremoniously. 'Here? You're just begging to get caught.'

'I don't particularly care,' Rufus says. 'I want you, tabloids be damned.'

Tseng smiles, champagne-brain taking over as he shuffles forward gently, tries his best not to upset the boat. Rufus laughs as Tseng places his long legs against the edges of the boat, tangled with Rufus' own, and pulls him in for a kiss by the sleeves of his cardigan. The sleeves end up unravelling and Rufus' head clanks foreward against Tseng's, and they laugh and kiss each other sloppily, all tongue and fumbling hands. 

Rufus laughs into Tseng's mouth, pulls Tseng's hair free of its braid and teases him mercilessly. Tseng with all his liquid confidence teases back, rubs a hand gently over Rufus' groin, relishes in the sudden moan Rufus makes.

'So much for not wanting it in public,' Rufus says.

Tseng smiles, shrugs wryly; part of him is interested in preserving Rufus' reputation, but the more demanding part has been watching Rufus all morning, the tension in his arms, the curve of his ass.

'If anyone's watching, you'll give them a show.'

Tseng carries on teasing Rufus, feels Rufus hardening through his trousers and goes to unbuckle his belt, a more challenging task than he'd bargained for with drunken hands. Rufus takes the hint and helps, unbuttons his fly and moves Tseng's hand into his underwear, gasps as Tseng strokes him under the fabric.

Rufus gets his hands under Tseng's shirt, moans into him and grasps Tseng tight enough to bruise. Still, Tseng doesn't let up, has found the rhythm that makes Rufus tense and moan and shiver and god, Tseng feels very fucking powerful when he does this.

Rufus bites at Tseng's neck, whispers how close he is, and Tseng kisses Rufus fiercely, swallows all Rufus' gasps and staggered breaths. Eventually, Rufus comes, and Tseng kisses him through his usual loud cries; instead he feels Rufus moaning against his lips, body convulsing as he spills hot cum into Tseng's hand. 

Rufus pants into Tseng's shoulder, red-faced, sweaty hair sticking to his forehead. Tseng strokes Rufus' hair with one hand, deliberately moves his dirtier hand out the way; but Rufus takes it, licks the cum from Tseng's fingers with a look that is probably illegal in several parts of the world.

'There's water literally there,' Tseng protests weakly, laughing.

'And risk catching something? Absolutely not,' Rufus says, kisses the palm of Tseng's hand. 'It's not sanitary.'

'And giving you a handjob in a public rental boat is the height of hygiene,' Tseng says, fumbling with the buttons to do Rufus' trousers back up. 'You decent?'

'Don't worry,' Rufus says, grinning. 'White trousers.'

Tseng looks Rufus up and down with a faint horror.

'That explains so much about you,' Tseng says. 

As much as Tseng wants Rufus to return the favour, the sun's coming down and they're a good half hour up the river. Tseng kisses him, whispers _to be continued_ , decides he'll have a go at punting them back. Standing up is much more difficult than it looks, particularly after half a bottle; he wobbles treacherously and Rufus holds his legs below, laughing.

Tseng pulls the pole out the water, is surprised at how heavy it is, and pushes them forward with all his strength, looks like a kicked puppy when it only shuffles them forward a metre or two. Rufus laughs, corrects his position, shows him the right angle to kiss the water. Tseng follows his instructions, quietly wishes Rufus could stand up and instruct him, his body behind Tseng's without the risk of them both falling in. Eventually, Tseng gets into the rhythm of it, and now it is Rufus' time to stare admiringly, lights a cigarette and sits with his legs apart invitingly as if he hasn't already come once this afternoon. 

Tseng is enjoying himself, feels oddly peaceful on the water despite the ache in his back and his shoulders. The sun casts a copper colour onto the water, onto the white of Rufus' clothes, and all too suddenly it is over, as they arrive back at the dock, the sales attendant tapping his foot at their lateness.

Rufus apologises with a breeziness that hardly conveys what they were really up to, which Tseng is glad for, because he can barely make eye contact with the lad for fear he'll smell it on them. Rufus walks ahead with his usual confidence, and Tseng follows him, shuffles off the dock and does not allow himself to laugh until they're way past the boathouse.

Rufus laughs with him, looks surprisingly sheepish despite his bravado. He lights another cigarette, rattles the almost empty box and places it in Tseng's pocket.

'Present for the sailor,' Rufus says, blows a steady stream of smoke. 'Get a vice of your own.'

Tseng smiles, plucks the cigarette from Rufus' mouth, kisses the smoke from him.

'There's something else I'd rather have,' Tseng says, pushes his hair back. Rufus smirks, a familiar expression on his face, and pushes Tseng up against the back of the boathouse, kisses him senseless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aubergine emoji aubergine emoji. to quote a previous comment, 'christ these guys are horny'
> 
> apparently sperm keyrings are not a universal thing, after talking about this on twitter dot com the other day it is very much just a UK thing to get a sperm keyring with sexual health supplies during freshers week. they glow in the dark y'all be missing out
> 
> (also this is the last time i will sneakily update the chapter count and hope nobody notices, it'll be nine chapters in total.)


	8. bar italia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warnings in this particular chapter for classism and racism

It's a rejection, of course.

Making it to the final stage of the Civil Service Fast Stream is a compliment, Tseng knows, but it would perhaps be more of a compliment if they'd actually considered selecting him for the cohort. Tseng winces when he gets the email, can see the first line or so in the message preview - _we regret to inform you_ \- and opens it quick, rips it off like a plaster.

It's not that he'd had his heart set on the job, at all. Tseng is adaptable, and persistent, and could probably work anywhere considering it's not like, landlord-adjacent. But it's coming to his final term, and the anxiety of post-graduation unemployment is starting to weigh on him.

It doesn't help of course when his LinkedIn and his Facebook are full of his peers interning at the Times, working at the Korean Embassy, doing analytics at KPMG for the Easter holidays. All illustrious, all demonstrating character and experience, and all _unpaid._ Tseng doesn't have prestigious internships on his CV, because he can't afford to live without a salary, has no hidden fortune to bail him out. When it comes down to it, it's as simple as that.

Tseng sees a message from Rufus on his phone, and sighs, decides to answer a little later on. As much as Tseng cares for him, Rufus is the last person on earth Tseng wants to talk to about equality of opportunity. Instead, Tseng sighs, takes a break from his essay to flick through job sites. 

_You should probably lower your expectations_ , a part of Tseng thinks; but then, Tseng has never been satisfied a day in his life. Reaching for ridiculous things is how he motivates himself, how he defies the odds and succeeds. Tseng's drive is where perfectionism and stubbornness meet, sharpened to a point. One rejection email isn't going to change that.

Maybe he's allowed to sulk for a little while, though. Tseng gives himself a designated ten minutes of sulking time, which he decides to spend buying an overpriced library coffee and sitting outside for a bit.

It's sunny outside, a nice breeze, and Tseng perches against the library wall, leans his head back against cold concrete. His phone buzzes again, and Tseng looks down - it's Rufus, and Tseng sighs, feels guilty about it. It's not Rufus' fault that Tseng's been rejected, and taking it out on Rufus is a shitty thing to do. Tseng sips his coffee, balances his phone precariously on top of his cup.

 _Sorry, was in the library,_ Tseng types delicately. _Not been a great day so far_

 _My poor little Tseng_ , Rufus replies, which is hardly validating Tseng's decision to text him in the first place. _What's happened?_

 _Job rejection_ , Tseng writes, decides to take the leap of faith in trusting Rufus not to say something entirely tone deaf. _It's not a big deal but still feels_ \- Tseng attaches a sad face emoji. It feels decidedly less sincere than typing out how much it's gotten to him.

 _That Civil Service one?_ Rufus replies, and Tseng feels oddly touched that he remembers. 

_Yeah,_ Tseng replies, moves his phone to sip his coffee.

 _Well they're stupid fuckers,_ Rufus says. _Imagine rejecting you!!! You work harder than anybody I know._

Tseng smiles hollowly. Rufus is being kind, genuinely _kind_ , and it sits on him uneasily.

 _That's nice of you to say,_ Tseng replies back. _Thank you_.

 _I mean it,_ Rufus replies. _Christ knows what they're looking for if it's not you._

Tseng sighs, takes a sip of his coffee. He can take an educated guess.

 _Anyway, plenty more fish in the sea,_ Tseng types. _Something will come up_.

 _That's the spirit!_ Rufus replies, and Tseng can positively see his smile through the phone. _Still fancy a coffee later?_

Tseng thinks for a second; that'll be coffee number five. Still with the acceptable boundaries before he gets the shakes.

 _Please_ , Tseng types, pauses, and then adds _; It'll be nice to see you._

Tseng returns to the library, doesn’t quite know what to make of the blooming warmth in his chest.

The afternoon passes quicker after writing to Rufus, after knowing Tseng has something to look forward to. Tseng meets him at a coffee shop off Bridge Street, a run down cursed-looking place with yellow painted walls where the coffee is deceptively good. When Rufus turns up at the café in his suit and brogues, it looks almost like the start of a comedy sketch.

 _Where did you even find this place?_ Rufus asks, all scowls and haughty features, but he changes his tune when the coffee comes, gasps in approval and orders an entire bag for himself. Tseng smiles quietly to himself, feels pleased that he can introduce the man who has everything to at least one new experience.

Cheap coffee turns into cheap drinks, which turns into fumbled kisses on the walk back to King's, where Rufus puts his best efforts into making Tseng forget any sadness about his job rejection. Rufus fucks him with an unexpected tenderness, whispers soft affirmations into Tseng's neck as he makes Tseng come for the first time this evening, follows it up with languorous kisses and a promise of _more, later._

It's a promise that Rufus keeps.

\--

Another morning of lectures, as usual, and Tseng walks stiffly to the library, back weighed down and aching with textbooks. He’s over the hump of his dissertation now, has tied up those loose ends around community safety and _Prevent_ and finally has a conclusion that he’s more satisfied with. It doesn’t feel so much like a chore now the end is in sight, and Tseng drafts paragraphs in his head as he walks, thinks of the narrative and the order he wants to cite his sources.

The last few days have been quiet, which is rare from Rufus - as far as Tseng knows, he’s in some kind of strategic board meetings for upcoming Shinra projects. Normally, Tseng would pry out of curiosity, but at the moment, it serves as a welcome reprieve from Rufus’ hurricane-like romance and gives Tseng a few days to actually focus on his work.

On the whole, Tseng feels good about things. His work is going well, he’s getting fucked on the regular, the sun is shining, and today, even the tourists in their hordes don’t irritate him. There’s more to it, as well - the way Tseng’s heart beats in his chest when Rufus texts him, the way Rufus’ face crinkles as he tells a particularly bad joke. 

Tseng notices the weird softness that seems to have permanently nestled in his chest, a sensation he could easily mistake for love. It’s foreign, but certainly not unwelcome.

Tseng’s phone buzzes, distracting him from his thoughts.

 _SOS: In a meeting,_ Rufus sends. _Deadly dull. Come save me?_

 _Save me_ , Rufus writes. Tseng briefly imagines Rufus in the wind, swooning, coat billowing like they’re on the fucking Titanic.

 _You want me in your meetings now?_ Tseng types. _With all your rich landlord friends? I’d eat them alive._

 _Oh come off it,_ Rufus replies. _Just pop in for five minutes, come up with an excuse to whisk me away_.

 _Can do_ , Tseng types. _As long as it’s walkable._

 _It is_ , Rufus insists. _It’s important to me to have you there, Tseng._

Tseng raises his eyebrows at that, feels a small pang of affection. He can hardly deny an invitation like that.

Rufus sends him an address to what appears to be a café on Kings Parade, and Tseng scowls instinctively; why pick the most touristy place in the world if he's keen to live incognito? Tseng doesn't question it though, is near enough in town that he has time to pop in, to add a dose of spontaneity to his day.

Tseng weaves in and out of throngs of tourists, strikes a delicate balance between following the map on his phone and watching for people in his immediate vision. He sighs, feels briefly grateful as the phone buzzes in his hand and tells him this is the spot, and Tseng makes a beeline for the entrance, whips past a walking tour to get inside quickly.

Google might have been underselling this place when describing it as a café; it is spacious and decked in old Art Nouveau paintings that make him feel like he's time-warped to a Paris salon. It feels almost too antiquated for Rufus' taste, all browns and greens where Rufus chooses sleek whites and silvers. Tseng looks past the paintings to the mirror behind the counter, tries his best to fix his hair into something less ragged. He walks through the café, looking for Rufus in his trademark white, and in the corner he can see a familiar blonde head, but Rufus is not sat on his own.

Tseng frowns, tries to make out who Rufus is with before recognition hits him like a train.

'Is this your guest, Rufus?'

Rufus turns to face Tseng, looks at him with an expression half guilt, half grimace.

'Tseng,' Rufus says, voice even sharper than usual, 'this is my father.'

Tseng pauses, tries to quiet the alarm bells in his head and avoid giving Rufus a look that screams _what the fuck???????_

'Mr Shinra,' Tseng says instead, surprises himself with his poise. 'It's lovely to meet you.'

Rufus' father takes Tseng's hand in a wrist-shattering handshake, claps Tseng on the back in an overly familiar way that makes him cringe. 

'Sit down, my boy,' says Rufus' father, and Tseng does, perches gingerly on the edge of the seat like it's boobytrapped. Under the table, Rufus places a hand on his thigh, fleetingly quick; before Tseng can respond, Rufus' arms are back crossed against his chest, face bored and pouting.

'Father was in the area for a business trip, and he wrote to see if I wanted to meet for coffee,' Rufus says, eyes barely meeting Tseng's. 'So when Tseng said he was nearby, I thought I'd extend Father's generosity a little.'

Tseng looks at Rufus, tries to keep the disbelief from his face.

'Tseng,' repeats Rufus' father. ' _Interesting_ name. Sounds quite Oriental.'

Rufus bristles uncomfortably, and Tseng smiles a well-practiced smile, one he whips out when speaking to most white people over fifty.

'My father was Chinese,' Tseng says politely, tries his best not to smirk thinking about Shinra's reputation in China. 'Don't have a lick of Mandarin though, sadly.'

'That's a shame,' Rufus' father says. 'An increasingly useful language to have.'

'How's _your_ Mandarin, Father?' asks Rufus, all too innocently, and Tseng has to bite his lip.

'It's sufficient,' Rufus' father says sharply. 'As well you know.'

Tseng sits quietly, wishes to be anywhere but here. Knowing what he knows, Tseng could cut the tension with a knife.

'Enough frivolities,' Rufus says, feigns tiredness. 'Aren't you going to offer our guest a drink?'

Rufus' father does his best impression at a bumbling forgetful old man, which falls flat considering the way his eyes bore holes into Rufus only moments prior. Shinra makes a show of handing Tseng the menu, and Tseng winces, recognises the expectant look when Tseng says he really isn't hungry. Tseng smiles delicately, asks for a black coffee, and wonders if Rufus feels the same sense of déjà vu that Tseng does.

'Thank you, Mr. Shinra,' Tseng says as Rufus' father summons the waitress. 'That's very kind.'

'Nonsense,' Shinra says, in a voice that positively booms round the room. 'The least I can do for a friend of our family.'

Tseng feels his insides shrivel; in the sound below sound, there is a note in Shinra's voice that sounds almost threatening. _A friend of our family_ , he says; it sounds more like induction to the Mafia than friendly small talk over coffee. _Friend_ is an interesting word as well, Tseng thinks, and for a moment, Tseng wonders just how much Rufus has told his father, if anything. 

Tseng feels as if he's been invited to a play where everyone knows the final act but him, and he sits uncomfortably, waits for the gun to fire. Instead of a gun, Tseng receives a black coffee on an ornate, floral saucer; it might not be fatal, but it feels just as loaded.

'So how was your meeting?' Rufus drawls.

Shinra waves his hand with a dismissive scowl that reminds Tseng far too much of Rufus.

'Sycophantic nonsense,' Shinra says. 'A real waste of time. Asking questions about the ethics of it all, bleeding heart liberalism at its finest. You'd have been far better suited to it.'

Rufus nods, and Tseng quickly realises that Rufus' father calling him caring and ethical is not intended as a compliment. Tseng looks at them curiously, sipping his coffee, and Shinra turns to Tseng, smiles at him shark like.

'Rufus has been on at me to do something charitable for years,' Shinra says to Tseng, curls his lip as if the very idea is laughable. 'But the scholarship idea of his, now, that isn't too bad -'

'Father,' Rufus says far too quickly, almost spills his drink in his haste. 'I thought you said that wasn't a priority.'

'Well, perhaps not originally,' Shinra says. 'However, with public relations dented as they are at the moment, we could certainly use the publicity.'

The two of them spar with their words, and Tseng feels like a piece of furniture, merely spectating. It's not until Rufus' father takes a sip of his whiskey that there's a pause, and Tseng gets a moment to speak.

'Sorry - what's this scholarship idea?'

Rufus' father laughs his loud, sonorous laugh.

'My apologies, my boy,' Shinra says. 'Rufus prattles so much about these schemes of his that I assumed you must have known.'

Tseng shakes his head, the disdain in Shinra's tone setting Tseng's teeth on edge, his fists clenching under the table.

'Rufus wants to spearhead a scholarship here at Cambridge for - how did you say it, Rufus?'

Rufus looks up at his father, eyes like jagged glass.

'Underprivileged students.'

'That's it, of course - for _underprivileged students,_ ' Shinra echoes, the laugh in his voice palpable. 'Now, why on earth he thinks the Staceys and Deans of this world deserve to go to Cambridge I've no idea, but the Board seem to think it'll be successful in rejuvenating our image a little. Soft power, or something like that.'

Rufus stares at a fixed spot on the table. Below it, Tseng's nails cut grooves into his fists.

'An intriguing idea,' Tseng says, tries his damnedest to keep his tone light and even. 'And how would it work?'

'Something about selecting talented students from _inner city_ schools,' Shinra says, rolls the word around his mouth like it tastes foul. 'The successful applicant gets their tuition funded, and a job at the Company waiting for them on graduation.' Rufus' father takes a sip of his drink, swirls it round in his glass with a flourish. 'Hardly sure what dregs we'll find, but I'm sure there's room somewhere in our ranks for them.'

 _Dregs_ , thinks Tseng quietly. The dregs of society, like the dregs swirling at the bottom of Shinra's glass. Unpalatable waste, the parts you throw away. _That's me,_ Tseng thinks, cannot bring himself to look at Rufus.

'Anyway,' Shinra continues, oblivious to either of his guests being viscerally uncomfortable, 'the Board seem to think that charity is _in_ this year. Guardian readers, the lot of them.' Shinra laughs, positively elbows Tseng in solidarity at how funny it all is. 'Still, if this affirmative action or however we badge it makes headlines, perhaps working with Labour won't be such a hard sell.'

Affirmative action. Tseng's eyes narrow with rage.

'Well, I think it's a _great_ idea,' Tseng says, loud and deliberate. It's almost enough to make Rufus look at him. 'How many _inner city_ kids wouldn't want to work for Shinra?'

'You sound like my advisor, Tuesti,' Shinra says, laughing. 'He knows how to get on my good side.'

 _This is Shinra’s good side_ , Tseng thinks hollowly. A man whose class hatred is so palpable, it positively spills over onto the table in front of him. Tseng sits patiently, tries not to let his hands shake as he finishes his coffee. 

‘Well, it’s a fascinating idea,’ Tseng says, rounds his vowels the way Rufus does. ‘I never knew Rufus was so altruistic.’

 _Say something,_ Tseng urges silently. _Anything._

Rufus emerges from his hair, finishes the dregs of wine in his glass.

‘Our line of work never rewards altruism,’ is what Rufus finally does say, sounds stiff, almost like he’s being translated. ‘But I try my best.’

Rufus looks up at Tseng properly, looks at him with red cheeks, guilty eyes.

_Save me._

‘Speaking of altruism,‘ Tseng says, with an improvised fluency that makes him feel sick, ‘we have a meeting about the Charity Fashion Show in half an hour. Rufus, did you forget?’

Shinra shakes his head in disappointment.

‘You’ve time for that, but not for attending Board meetings,’ Shinra mutters, bangs his glass down on the table with surprising force. The noise makes Tseng flinch.

‘As always, Father, I have the Company in mind,’ Rufus says coolly. ‘It’s good for our image. Soft power, as you say.’

For a brief moment, the calculated coldness on Rufus’ features makes him unrecognisable. Tseng’s desire to leave intensifies even more.

‘Of course,’ Shinra says, hardly convinced. ‘Well, I shan’t keep you from your social schedule. But before the two of you go –‘ 

‘Father,’ Rufus says sharply, but Shinra waves a dismissive hand.

‘Before the two of you go,’ Shinra persists, his eyes slowly turning to Tseng, ‘I should tell you what a pleasure it has been to meet you, Tseng.’

He doesn’t even try to pronounce Tseng’s name properly. Tseng feels irritation dissipate into panic as he looks at Rufus, retreating back into his hair.

 _What have you told him?_

‘The pleasure is mine, sir,’ Tseng says delicately, voice apprehensive. ‘I didn’t realise Rufus had mentioned me.’

Shinra laughs again, with his booming voice, and Tseng feels on a knife-edge.

‘He’s mentioned, of course, how well suited you’d be for a job at the Company.’

Tseng feels his heart pounding in his ears.

 _So that’s it,_ Tseng thinks. No meeting by coincidence, but a trap deliberately sprung. Tseng feels embarrassed at how slow he is, how he walked into this unknowingly, how he trusted Rufus.

‘And I quite agree,’ Shinra continues, smiling shark-like. ‘You’re personable, understand the company ethos, and if your academics are what Rufus claims they are, you’d be perfect in our Defence department.’

Tseng hopes his face does not look horrified, hopes it stays below the skin. _You don’t know a fucking thing about me_ , Tseng thinks, and realises that is entirely the point, realises how people with no talent or merit succeed by virtue of being in the right place, of knowing the right people.

Tseng vows there and then, fists clenched beneath the table, that that will _never_ be him. The basest, most childish part of Tseng wants to pull the tablecloth and shatter plates to the floor, wants to tell Shinra to go fuck himself; but the part of Tseng that prevails is, as always, the part of him that cares for Rufus, even after he's pulled a stunt like this.

A _stunt_ is putting it lightly. Tseng feels like his heart has been stamped on. After the last few weeks of dating, of setting boundaries, of real tenderness, Tseng thought Rufus was starting to understand him, understand his perspective and his background and his _life_.

Tseng's chest feels hollow. Doing something like this simply proves Rufus doesn't know him at all. If this is the gun going off in the final act, Tseng certainly feels like he's been shot.

‘I’m flattered,’ Tseng says stiffly, wills his voice to stay even. ‘Thank you for your consideration.’

‘One of my managers will be in touch,’ Shinra says, ignores the waitress as she returns his card. ‘Don’t you have a meeting to be going to?’

Tseng nods wordlessly, legs hollow. He feels like he’s been hit by a truck. Delicately, Tseng stands up, eyes glued to the floor as he hears Rufus push his chair back to leave with him. Tseng does not, can not bring himself to look at Rufus, instead simply allows Rufus to place a hand in the small of his back and lead him out of the café, moving his body in all the right ways.

They make it outside back on King’s Parade, and Tseng blinks once, twice in the light, at the sound of crowds of people. Rufus takes Tseng by the hand, leads him over to college, where Rufus waves at the gate attendants and they open it, immediately recognising him. They walk silently to a bench in the courtyard, where the chatter of crowds slowly fades and the only sound is the organ from the chapel, tuning up in frenetic octaves that only makes Tseng feel more anxious.

Tseng feels wounded, feels an urge to curl his knees up to his chest. 

‘You see now why I want rid of him,’ Rufus says, breaking the silence between them. ‘He’s a fucking liability.’

Tseng barks a laugh, in shock.

'What?'

'All of that,' Rufus says, fiddling with his lighter. 'A god damned mess is what it was, hardly expected him to go on about the scholarship nonsense, honestly -'

'Rufus,' Tseng says sharply, cuts him off. 'What the fuck have you done?'

Rufus stares at Tseng, quietly defensive. His hands fiddle with a fresh pack of cigarettes, making light work of the plastic cover.

'Before you go flying off the handle, I want you to understand my intent,' Rufus says. 'And how it wasn't remotely _that._ '

'What was it, then?' Tseng says coldly. 'Considering I just had to sit and listen to about twenty dehumanising things from your dad, I think I'm being pretty patient.'

'You are,' Rufus says, lights up and inhales deeply. 'And I'm sorry about him. Could spend my life apologising for that man.'

'Is there a point here, or?'

'Alright,' Rufus concedes, blows smoke from his nose. 'You said you needed a job, any job. So I asked.'

Rufus sits back as if that's the end of it.

'I don't need your -'

'Yes, Tseng, you don't need my help, and don't I fucking know it,' Rufus snaps back, genuinely raises his voice in a way that makes Tseng wince. 'Every time I try to do anything for you, you make me feel like a criminal for even _trying_ to make you happy. Part of me thinks you relish in it.' 

Rufus exhales slowly, eyes icy.

'You need a job. My father has jobs. Why, for once, can't it be as simple as that?'

Tseng brushes his hair aside, dares himself to face Rufus properly.

'What did you tell him about me?' 

Rufus scoffs.

'I didn't tell him we're fucking, if _that's_ what you're worried about -'

'I mean what did you tell him about me that made him speak to me like I'm one of you lot?' Tseng asks. 'The way he expects me to laugh with him, like I'm not one of the dregs of society he hates so much.'

'Tseng -'

'Did you tell him I'm a good Cambridge boy, is that it? A good Cambridge boy who'll make a good Shinra lapdog -'

'I said you were _smart_ ,' Rufus says through gritted teeth. 'Exceptionally smart, and hardworking, both of which you _are.'_

‘Your father's company - your company - is supposed to be for _people_ , Rufus, common, normal fucking people like me and my family. Imagine if they heard him talking about them like _that_.'

'When it's _my_ company, they won't be.'

'Oh, right,' Tseng says, sharply. 'You'll just bribe them with jobs every time they live in a way you don't like.'

'That is _not_ fair,' Rufus shouts, his usually perfect face red and patchy. 'I don't _bribe_ the people I _care_ about.'

'If you care about me, you've got a twisted way of showing it.'

Rufus says nothing, the two of them finally running out of steam, slowly releasing the knives at each other's throats. Tseng sits on his hands, sighs; Rufus stubs his cigarette out violently, sighs alongside him.

'I don't understand how you keep doing this,' Tseng says plainly, after a silence. 'How you keep making the same mistake, over and over.'

'That's _not_ fair -'

'Please, I want to say this,' Tseng says, and Rufus stills, recognises the vulnerability in it. 'I like spending time with you, so much. But you keep treating me like I'm a project, like I'm something to be fixed.'

Rufus looks at him with wide, blue eyes.

'I don't understand,' he says _; of course you don't_ , Tseng thinks.

'What I mean is I want you to treat me like a person, Rufus, and I want you to listen when I say no to things.' Tseng pauses, inhales deeply, fiddles with the cuffs of his sleeves. 'Me saying that I don't want any handouts from you isn't me being coy or humble. I _mean_ it. I want you to understand that this is _my_ life, and I get to make the decisions about what's best.'

'So I'm not allowed to show you kindness at all, then,' Rufus says, sharply. 

'Kindness doesn't have to be through _things_ ' Tseng says, lowers his head in embarassment. 'It can be in making me laugh, or taking me apart when I'm wound up. Or it can be in _actually_ listening to me.'

Rufus crosses his legs, taps bright white shoes against the cobbles.

‘When I met you, you were fun,’ Rufus says, teasing. ‘I never realised I’d fucked somebody so _boring_.’

‘Not everyone gets the luxury of having fun all the time,’ Tseng says.

‘Oh, here we go _again_ ,’ Rufus snarls, throwing his arms about to emphasise his point. ‘Mister Class Warfare has entered, everyone, please feel guilty for the next twenty minutes and hand in all your material belongings.’

Tseng sneers at the spectacle.

'Christ, you look just like your father.'

Rufus opens his mouth to protest, his face haughty, and mouths several failed words before his face falls to brimming sadness. Tseng feels immediately guilty, opens his mouth to apologise for such a low blow, but he knows immediately from the look on Rufus' face that there are some things sorry is never enough for.

 _You're supposed to be angry at him,_ Tseng reminds himself, as if he doesn't still care, as if he hasn't burned a bridge in front of his eyes.

Tseng looks at the floor, chooses a fixed point across the courtyard to focus his attention on, as emotions threaten to break the skin. He sees Rufus stand up in his peripheral vision, but still Tseng says nothing. He hears the gentle clack of Rufus' expensive shoes against cobbled paths, does not watch him walk away, does not beg him to stay despite the pull in Tseng's chest.

Tseng can see Rufus' room from here, can see the large bay window and its view. From upstairs, he sees a brief flash of white in the window, before there is a flutter of curtains.

\--

It’s gone one-am and Tseng wants a place that doesn't feel like Rufus, doesn't carry his memory. In his head, he tries the river, the courtyards, his poky campus room, but Rufus breathes over all of them. Instead, he wanders through the centre of Cambridge, spires dark against the navy sky. Tonight and tomorrow morning feels like a write-off now anyway, so he walks, stops and takes in the sights, tries to clear his mind as best he can. His feet are aching and his phone is dead, and Tseng is quietly pleased; it robs him of the urge to see where Rufus is, likely coked-up and hollering in a club somewhere.

Tseng fumbles in his pockets, and feels something that feels like crumpled card; as he takes it out, he realises it’s the leftover cigarettes Rufus placed in his hand the other day, can hear a few rolling around inside the box. Tseng unfolds the box, sees two cigarettes with their gold filters facing towards him, and feels a pang of guilt. He smokes neither of them, it doesn’t feel right to now; instead he puts them back in his pocket, vows to save them for Reno and Rude as a souvenir of the time when he was Rufus Shinra’s bit of rough.

Past tense, already. Tseng has always been good at saying goodbye to things. Nothing’s ever permanent – some months you have enough money to get by, others you don’t. Sometimes a rich boy smiles at you with empathy and kindness, and other times he sneers at you selfishly. Tseng knows precarity like his own name, and is never complacent about these things.

Tseng walks through the city that will never feel like home, and thinks _two months, now_. Two months until he leaves this behind, and Rufus Shinra is an anecdote for Elena’s games of _Never Have I Ever._

Tseng does not allow himself to wonder if Rufus will remember him, at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> writing president shinra was. an experience. hope i managed to make him a convincing imposing presence instead of like, the 2D spectre of capitalism


	9. common people

Tseng throws himself into work, as he always has.

There are always pressing deadlines, always essays to write, but now, they feel more pressing than ever. Tseng, for all intents and purposes, has fallen into an intellectual void over the last few weeks, and building back his discipline and ability to concentrate without daydreaming is an arduous process. 

He holes himself up in the library like it’s a tower from a fairy-tale; here, he is unimpeachable, untouchable, protected from the world and its desires. He can be monastic if he must, sacrificing himself at the altar of his dissertation. Tseng wants to roll his eyes at himself, and how cunty he sounds; _Rufus rubbing off on you again, even in your subconscious_. 

_Focus,_ he tells himself.

It doesn’t help that for the first time ever Tseng’s body craves contact, craves touches in the small of his back and hands fisted in his hair. As if emotions weren’t enough of a distraction, his own physiology rebels against him. It is truly infuriating, and when Tseng thinks about complaining about it to the group chat, he stops himself, embarrassed. It's far too poetic a way to describe himself when really, he's just unbearably horny.

In between oscillating from sad to horny to sad again, Tseng does in fact manage to get his work done. His discipline returns, as does his single-minded focus; and for a moment, he can pretend Rufus never happened. It’s easy once he commits to it, in the way he does everything else. By the end of the week, after a few one-am stints and countless cups of coffee, he has his work ready to submit. He’s as happy with it as he’ll ever be, has the urge to over-edit and prune each sentence until they’re at the bare bones of their meaning; but then, his perfectionism spoils everything, so he decides to leave it.

Tseng sends a celebratory message to the group chat, does not feel remotely celebratory.

 _He lives!_ Elena replies, _Seriously T, got worried about you there for a minute._

_Just been working_ , he texts back as he scans his ID to leave the library. _Deadlines innit_

 _Yeah sure,_ she replies instantly. _That’s definitely the only reason you disappeared._

Tseng sighs. His insides feel ragged.

_Don’t, Laney._

_We’ve all been there_ , Elena writes. 

_I haven’t_ , Tseng types, irritated. He has to get his dissertation to the print shop, has to get it spiral bound, has to get to the Psychology department on the other side of town. This conversation can wait. It _has_ to wait. 

Tseng walks briskly to town, makes it to the high-ceilinged shopping centre only to find a queue of students coming out the door of the print shop, each one with thirty pages of dissertation in their hands. Tseng sighs, taps his foot, wonders how he got so fidgety as a human being. 

When it's his turn in the queue, he balks at the price to get it bound. Cambridge is full of these hidden costs, all required to jump through their hoops; getting the right binding for coursework, renting the right gowns for formals and exams. It all adds up, and if Tseng's degree wasn't on the line in all of this maybe he'd say something, maybe he'd protest. For now, anyway, he just wants to get the fucking thing printed and handed in. It's already midday.

Eventually, his copies are finished, and he snatches them up still warm from the printer as he leaves for the Psychology building. It takes him fifteen minutes or so, and before he goes in, he has a brief urge to take a selfie with his dissertation outside, because it's what you're supposed to do. Looking around to make sure nobody sees him posing so obviously, Tseng holds up his beautifully laminated dissertation and smiles by the _University of Cambridge_ sign, takes a quick photo.

Looking back at it, Tseng feels a pang of sadness. Tseng's face looks different, more gaunt, deeper shadows under his eyes. He wishes he could ascribe it all to studying too late. Tseng sighs, and sends it to the group chat anyway, tries his best at being a content, excitable student, going through the rituals that are supposed to make it all mean something.

Tseng enters the building, waits in line to finally, _finally_ hand it in. At the front of the queue, he hands his copies over and signs a declaration that the work is his, and that's it. No more ceremony, nothing to show for the last several weeks of his life. Nothing to show for his heartache.

If Tseng was a normal person, he'd probably go for a drink right now, would call friends and do shots and order copious amounts of takeaway. It's not until now that he realises how alone he is here, realises that before Rufus this solitary lifestyle seemed liveable, not unbearable like it feels now. Now, Tseng looks around at the vivid green grass and the cobbled paths and the laughing crowds of lads in varsity gear and thinks _what the fuck am I doing here, really?_

More than anything, Tseng wants to go home.

He opens his phone, scrolls past jubilant messages in the group chat, and opens his private messages with Elena.

_Any chance I can take you up on your offer to stay?_

Elena replies with a hugging bear sticker, which Tseng takes to mean _yes._

\--

It takes seven hours on the National Express from Cambridge to Sheffield, including a lengthy stopover at a service station on the M1, possibly the least stylish way to travel ever. Tseng is feeling particularly masochistic as he sips his service station coffee, compares the stiff coach seats to the sleek leather of Rufus’ car. As he gets on the next bus, Tseng briefly considers working, but even on the motorway, the rhythm of it makes him feel a little nauseous. Instead, he closes his eyes, turns his music up and tries his best to get some rest.

By the time he gets to the coach station, all blue pillars and frosted glass, there’s a crick in his neck from where he’s slept fitfully, and Tseng winces as he gathers his belongings up, walks gingerly down the narrow aisle of the coach. He gets off the bus, looks around to get his bearings, but before he can react, a torpedo of blonde hair and flailing limbs positively jumps on him.

‘I missed you!’

Tseng smiles broadly, for what feels like the first time in ages.

‘Not if I missed you first,’ Tseng says back, grinning. ‘God am I pleased to see you, Elena.’

Elena wraps her arms around Tseng, ends up nestled somewhere in his chest even on her tiptoes. All five foot of Elena leans up to give all six foot of Tseng a kiss on the cheek, and she ruffles Tseng’s hair, a privilege as the only person in the world who’s _allowed_ to. 

‘My poor little lad,’ Elena says, pityingly. ‘Don’t worry. We’re gonna have a great time.’

Elena takes Tseng's backpack for him, slings it effortlessly over her strong back.

'You have told your mam you're coming, right?' 

Tseng shakes his head. 

'Mei's back at the minute, so it's either the sofa at home or the sofa at yours,' Tseng says. 'Yours has better company. I'll pop in and say hi, though.'

'We should surprise her!' Elena says. 'Largely 'cause I want some of her lemon cake.'

'Oh, alright,' Tseng says laughing. 'You know you don't need an excuse to go round, you're basically her daughter.'

The two of them drop Tseng's bags in Elena's dorm before getting the bus over to Burngreave, as if Tseng hasn't had enough bus travel for one day. When they get to his house, Tseng's mum shrieks in surprise, envelops Tseng and Elena in her arms and kisses Tseng's forehead, _how I missed my darling boy_! Tseng hugs her back, and feels wholly, genuinely relaxed for the first time in what feels like months.

'You sure you don't want to stay here?' Tseng's mum asks, eyes wide and sad.

'You've got a full house,' Tseng says, does feel a pang of guilt for not staying anyway. Paint peels above the kitchen tiles; another thing that, for some reason, he feels guilty for.

'And besides!' Elena interjects, sending his discomfort. 'We're having a big girly sleepover. Gonna give him a face mask, braid his hair, the works.'

Tseng scowls, which only makes Elena and his mum laugh further.

With the kids at school, Tseng's visit is significantly quicker than it would be otherwise, without his sisters and their games of 20 Questions. Instead, Elena practically pulls Tseng out the door, insists that they need to get back for some reason, politely declining a near-hamper of food from Tseng's mum who insists they both look _ever so thin_.

Elena and Tseng wait at the bus stop, laughing, watching cars speed past and sharing headphones like they're fifteen. On the way home, Tseng briefly puts his head on Elena's shoulder, breathes in a pang of homesickness finally realised. 

They get off the bus outside Elena's halls, and they walk for a minute or two before Elena stops him in his tracks, covers his eyes with her hands.

'The fuck are you doing, Laney -'

'Surprise, you cunt!'

Elena lifts her hands from Tseng's eyes with a flourish, not that she needs to. He'd know that voice anywhere.

'Oh come _on,_ ' Tseng says, laughing in disbelief. 'What are you two doing here?'

He walks forward to greet them, wrapping one arm around Reno, and the other around Rude. Rude looks stubblier, Reno looks scrawnier, and Tseng is acutely aware of how much he's missed them both. Rude envelops them all in his arms, a good head taller than Tseng, and Elena clings to his back like a spider monkey, the four of them back together at last.

'Seriously though,' Tseng says, grinning. 'Why did you come?'

'We heard you were coming for a piss up,' Rude says. 

'A proper _fuck Shinra_ piss up,' Reno corrects, and Tseng shakes his head, embarrassed. Rude scowls at Reno, in the way he does with no real malice.

'It's nothing,' Tseng says, and Rude immediately shakes his head.

'You're one of us, lad,' Rude says, his deep voice soft and warming. 'If you're feeling shit, then we're here, no questions asked.'

Elena nods, impressed.

'I only mentioned you were stopping in passing,' Elena says. 'Next thing I know, they're in the car up here.'

Tseng nods wordlessly, feels as if his chest might overflow.

'You're all fucking ridiculous,' Tseng says, smiling with a sincerity that makes Elena hold him. 'Thank you.'

They walk to Elena's room, Reno and Rude positively spooning in her bed while Elena and Tseng sit sprawled on the floor, Elena absently braiding Tseng's hair. They talk about everything and nothing, skirting round the subject of Rufus; while Elena is good for a deep meaningful conversation, Reno and Rude are better at drinking their feelings. For once, Tseng feels an urge to join them, could do with getting absolutely bladdered. 

Dance, drink and screw is the plan. Tseng doesn't object, and when Reno pulls a bottle of vodka from his bag and passes it round, Tseng sips from it neat. It feels very embarrassing and sixth form-like, but he does it anyway, wants to forget the last month or so has ever happened. 

They're older now and get sloppier quicker, stagger out of Elena's dorms into town, Rude carrying Elena on his back as they run down the hill. Tseng feels stupid-drunk already, feels light headed and has an inexplicable urge to eat pizza. Still, they have to actually _go_ clubbing first, and Elena drags them over to the queue for Popworld, which on any other night would make Tseng viscerally recoil in horror. Tseng has never been particularly fond of clubbing, even at eighteen, and now he's twenty three it's nigh on unbearable, zero patience for the drunk girls who coo _can I touch your hair!_ and stroke it with demanding sticky hands.

But then, tonight, Tseng doesn't want to be himself. He wants to be Tseng-adjacent; a more irresponsible, impressionable version of himself. The Tseng after a bottle of champagne is the Tseng he's aiming for, and if the numbness of his teeth is anything to go by, he's well on the way there.

Elena is in a sparkly halter top, with sparkly eyeshadow to match; Reno and Rude are in matching leather jackets, but Reno has a mesh shirt underneath to add an extra dose of twink to the ensemble. Tseng feels underdressed in his shirt and jeans; it's the safe choice for him, has always been the dad friend out of the four of them. Tseng turns to Reno, solemnly asks Reno to make him look a little more risqué, and Reno howls with laughter, kindly unbuttons the top few buttons of Tseng's shirt and puts his hair up for him. _I can't work miracles_ , Reno says.

They flash their IDs and they're inside, drop their three quid in the box and make their way to the bar, the smell of sweat and tequila overwhelming. The floors are just as sticky as Tseng remembers, and over the speakers blasts a song that he remembers from being fourteen or so. Reno immediately wrestles his way to the bar, his very pointy elbows a weapon in disguise. 

'Upstairs?' Elena hollers over the music, and Rude nods. Tseng shrugs, hasn't been here for the best part of five years and is willing to be led around. Reno returns with drinks, cradles them protectively in his arms, and follows them gingerly up the stairs. The room is packed when they get there, so they shuffle awkwardly round the edge of the light-up floor and take a drink each, pressed up against the wall. 

'Cheers m'dears,' Reno says, raises his cup and downs it in one. Tseng follows suit, feels the burn of a treble vodka cranberry down his throat as Rude and Elena cheer him on, pat him on the back so vigorously it almost makes him cough it back up. Reno takes Tseng's hand, pulls him into the middle of the dancefloor, into the mass of sweaty bodies and flashing pink-blue-purple lights. The song changes, and Elena shrieks, immediately runs over to join them, sings along to one that even Tseng vaguely knows the words to.

They sing and dance wildly, arms flailing, and for a moment Tseng feels entirely fucking weightless.

They dance for what feels like an age. At some point, Elena places another drink into his hand, and at another point, Rude grabs him by the arm to stop him from falling, which might be the funniest thing that has _ever_ happened. The floor is bright pink and Elena's blonde hair looks pink and even Reno looks pink, and Tseng strokes his face, tells him just how pink he looks and how he should probably see a doctor about it.

Eventually, Reno and Rude couple off to make out in the corner, Rude's hands possessive under the mesh of Reno's shirt. Elena is dancing with a girl who looks very confusingly like Cissnei, and it takes Tseng a solid minute or two to realise it's not in fact her, but that Elena has a very obvious type. All that brainpower makes him ache, and all of a sudden, his laughter turns into a wave of nausea that threatens to knock him over.

Tseng needs air all of a sudden, so he stumbles through a sea of bodies to the door to the smoking area. Bass reverberates through the walls, and Tseng can feel it in his hands as he grasps the door, pushes it open frantically as he staggers outside.

The cold night air is perfect, feels like a balm compared to the heat of indoors. Tseng gulps lungfuls of air until he's light headed with it, sits down on the wall outside on a sea of cigarette butts. He breathes in, hears the music from indoors on the breeze, and breathes out, slow but staggered. The music is tinny from inside the club, a song about heartache with an unsuitably pounding beat. 

Only then does it hit him, sitting down in the darkness of the smoking area. 

Christ, he is _so_ fucking _sad._

Before he realises it, Tseng has his phone in his hands, can hardly read but still wants to see them, anyway.

_For the love of God, I said I was sorry._

_Tseng, please._

_I can't bear this._

There are at least twenty messages from Rufus, varying in need and intensity, sent over the last two weeks. Each time they've appeared, Tseng's ignored them, out of anger or tiredness or an unwillingness to open Pandora's box of emotional complexity. Looking through them now, Tseng feels unbearably guilty, and sad, and feels as if he doesn't reply immediately, right now, right this _second_ he might die.

 _I misssssss you_ , Tseng types, nods proudly at himself before sending it. The air is so nice, Tseng thinks, and the music is so nice, and -

 _Oh shit,_ he thinks briefly before throwing up spectacularly over his shoes.

Tseng sits there, not entirely sure what to do with himself. Physically, he feels a lot better - if not mildly disgusted at himself - but emotionally, he feels like he's been run over by a truck. Tseng puts his head in his hands, holds them tight over his face as if he can force himself sober by force of sheer will. He cannot remember the last time in his life he felt this awful.

 _That's a lie_ , Tseng thinks, even his thoughts feeling slurred. _You felt this awful when you fucked it with Rufus._

Tseng sits there dumbly, head in his hands, vomit on his shoes. More than anything, he wants to say sorry, feels a cavern in his chest so deep it feels like it could mangle his insides. 

'Oh babe,' comes a familiar voice, and Tseng lifts his head, looks up at a familiar head of blonde hair, small and sparkly. 'I didn't realise you were so fucked.'

Elena pulls a tissue out her bag, gingerly wipes at Tseng's shoes before throwing it away, grimacing. She sits down next to him, places a comforting hand in his hair.

'You okay?' she asks, smiles at how stupid the question is given the state of him.

'Yeah,' Tseng says, nods shakily. He tries again, nods with a feigned confidence; until all of a sudden his face crumples, and Elena gasps, pulls him into her chest to quietly cry.

'My babe,' she says, holding him tight. 'That cunt's really done a number on you, eh?'

Tseng nods wordlessly, wraps his arms tight around Elena, too embarrassed at this point to emerge.

'Come on,' she says, kissing the top of his head. 'Let's get you some water and get you home.'

Tseng dries his eyes, looks at the floor with an overwhelming sadness.

'I feel too sick for pizza,' he says, feels as if he might cry again.

\--

Tseng wakes in a surprisingly comfy cocoon of duvet - if you can call whatever this is waking. It feels more like he is rising from a coffin undisturbed for hundreds of years; his eyes flicker open, and immediately slam closed again at the white burning daylight. The brightness feels like dozens of tiny needles pushing into the back of his eye sockets, and Christ, he is _never_ drinking again.

Unsure of where he is, Tseng delicately pulls the covers away from his head, wincing, managing one eye open. Next to him, he sees Elena lying on the floor on some configuration of cushions, a very uncomfortable looking makeshift bed. On the bedside table next to Tseng is a pint glass of water, a box of tissues, and an empty mixing bowl which he infers is for his sick.

Tseng feels immediately guilty for being the shittiest house guest ever.

Elena rolls over, awake, stretching out like a disgruntled cat.

'Morning, sunshine,' she says, rubbing her lower back.

'Morning,' Tseng says back, immediately regrets it. His throat feels like he's swallowed jagged glass. ‘Laney, I am so sorry -’

‘Don’t be stupid,’ Elena says, smiling. She looks incredibly perky in comparison to Tseng; forgets that Elena’s alcohol tolerance is the stuff of legend. ‘You needed the bed more than I did, and those two fuckers stole the sofa from me.’

‘That sounds like Reno,’ Tseng says. ‘Elena -’ Tseng asks very seriously, clutching his head. ‘Am I dead?’

‘You’re not dead,’ Elena says matter-of-factly. ‘You just wish you were.’

Tseng looks at her blankly. _Like that’s supposed to be comforting,_ he thinks.

‘What happened last night?’ Tseng asks, slowly surfacing from the covers. ‘I remember being sick, and - oh God, you were trying to pull, weren’t you?’

‘What?’ Elena says, laughing. ‘Oh, don’t worry about her. She had straight girl shoulders. You were sick and crying, so we decided it was time to go and Ubered it back here.’ Elena rubs her eyes, sits up cross-legged. ‘Although you spend a lot of the cab ride crying about how much you wanted a pizza.’

Tseng ponders this for a moment, face red with embarrassment.

‘I really did want a pizza,’ he says sincerely, and Elena laughs. ‘Christ, I’m such a state.’

‘Happens to the best of us,’ Elena says. ‘Fairly sure getting catatonically drunk’s good for the soul.’

Tseng nods at Elena’s sage wisdom, sips from the glass of water at his bedside. Suddenly, a memory from last night hits him like a bolt from the blue, makes him physically recoil in disgust.

'I think I texted Rufus,' Tseng says.

'Oh _God_ ,' Elena says, laughing. 'You _are_ a state. I love how you're going through your boy-crazy phase a solid ten years after the rest of us.'

'Oh, leave off,' Tseng says, sinks his head into the duvet. 'I understand the horrors of drunk texting now, even if I'm a bit late to learning my lesson.'

Elena smirks, leans forward to stretch out her back.

'And to think the Shinra Company want to hire a hot mess like you,' she says, teasing. 'Just _what_ is their hiring procedure like these days?'

Tseng smiles plainly, tries his best not to wince. Elena grins, turning to look at him, but sees his face and looks sheepishly at the floor. 

'Fine, that was harsh,' Elena says, softly. She stretches a hand out to Tseng, clicks her fingers. 'Pass us your phone, then. Let's see what the damage is.'

Tseng throws her his phone, hears it landing softly in Elena's bed of cushions. Elena looks through the messages, a horror dawning on her face.

'You left him on read for _two weeks?_ ' she crows. 'Stone cold bitch.'

'I was angry,' Tseng says plainly. 'I still might be.'

'Angry or heartbroken?' Elena asks.

'What?'

'You heard me, T,' she says. 'Can't see you drunk crying about just anyone.'

'Well, that's just -' Tseng shrugs dismissively, shakes his head. 'Alcohol is bad.'

'Mm-hmm,' Elena says, raising an eyebrow. She reads the texts from Rufus with an analyst's expression.

'Salvageable,' she says, throws the phone back to him. 'Maybe you broke his heart too.'

'What?'

'I'm not repeating myself,' Elena says prissily, ties her hair back. 'I'm taking a shower. Sort it out while I'm gone.'

Tseng stares blankly at his phone, decides he needs to be sufficiently caffeinated for this conversation. He finally - _finally_ \- pulls himself out of Elena's bed, and sitting up is absolutely fucking wretched. Tseng stumbles across the room, puts the kettle on and pinches some instant coffee - four spoons for a morning like this one. He waits for the kettle to boil, fiddles with the phone in his hands, before he realises how stupid this whole charade is and he clicks his phone to life and reads it.

 _Christ, what time do you call this???,_ Rufus has sent. And then, about five minutes later; _Are you on a night out?_

 _I was,_ Tseng types with jittering hands. _Sorry if I woke you._

That's an easy _sorry_ to start with, one to ease him in for the main event. The kettle clicks and Tseng pours his coffee, decides to go back to bed.

 _Well good for you_ , Rufus writes. _I'm pleased you had a delightful evening. I'm also pleased you're alive, because you could well have fooled me_.

Tseng winces. He forgets just how much Rufus doesn't fuck about.

 _I'm sorry for ignoring you,_ Tseng writes. _I honestly didn't mean to, I was busy with my diss and every time I wanted to message you it just felt. Hollow, somehow._

There’s a pause as Rufus replies, and Tseng cocoons himself back in the duvet, waits for the worst.

_Anybody ever tell you you’re a stone cold bitch?_

Tseng almost drops his phone in laughter. Oh _God,_ even _laughing_ hurts.

 _Literally less than five minutes ago,_ Tseng replies.

 _Good_ , Rufus replies. _It’s true_.

And then, several minutes later.

_I’m terrible at being angry with you. Can’t commit to it._

_Me neither, Tseng_ types back honestly. _I just kind of shut down._

 _I hadn’t noticed,_ Rufus replies, and Tseng smiles faintly, can see Rufus rolling his eyes from here. _So tell me more about your night of debauchery_.

 _I don’t remember much_ , Tseng replies. _But I feel like I might be somehow living in a dead body._

 _The sign of an excellent night_ , Rufus replies. _I’m proud of you. Where’d you end up? Can’t imagine you in Cindies, somehow_.

Tseng swallows, chooses his next words carefully.

 _I’m not actually in Cam at the minute_ , he types. _Finished my dissertation and went back to Sheff for the holidays_.

Tseng’s hands are tight round his coffee-cup, almost white knuckled. Tseng re-reads the message twice before finally sending it, hopes the ache isn’t there, the subtext of _everything in Cambridge reminded me of you_.

 _Oh!_ Rufus replies, quicker than Tseng expects. _Well, that explains it!_

_Explains what?_

_I went up to Homerton a few times,_ Rufus sends. _When you weren’t there I was worried._

Tseng reads the message, and almost drops his coffee. Tseng is immediately burdened with an image of Rufus waiting outside college in the rain, checking his watch, knocking frantically on the doors. It moves Tseng greatly, and he sighs, a wave of guilt washing over him.

 _I’m sorry_ , Tseng says again. _I mean, I probably was in the library most times, but – I still should’ve said._

Tseng hears a familiar blast of pop music from down the hall as Elena emerges from the shower in a fluffy dressing gown, turns the music down as she enters the bedroom and Tseng winces, covering his ears.

‘Sorry, forgot we’ve got an invalid,’ Elena teases. ‘Progress?’

‘Well, we’re texting again,’ Tseng says plainly. ‘Is that a start?’

‘You told him you want his rich Tory babies yet?’ Elena asks, winking.

‘Over my dead body,’ Tseng says flatly.

‘I mean, you look pretty dead to me at the minute.’

Tseng shrugs, concedes the point, _feels_ too dead to protest all that much.

‘How do you feel about hangover breakfast?’ Elena asks. ‘I want Maccies.’

Tseng's stomach immediately rumbles loudly at the mention of food, like a Pavlovian response. Elena grins.

'l'll take that as a yes,' she says. 'Let me wake the others.'

A crash and laughter from the other room implies that either Reno or Rude or both have fallen off the sofa, and Tseng smiles faintly at Elena finally seeking justice for her back. Tseng moves delicately, takes his coffee with him, and tries his best not to think about how Rufus hasn't replied to him. It's only just, after Tseng going silent for so long; if Tseng can't stand it for ten minutes, Christ knows what two weeks feels like. Tseng nurses his coffee as he enters the front room, feels quiet and achy and entirely not in the mood for any more introspection.

He’s easily distracted as soon as Reno and Rude pounce on him, tease him mercilessly for his lack of alcohol tolerance. The four of them flop on the floor, pass Elena’s phone around as they each add copious amounts of breakfast food to their order, Reno in particular ordering enough hash browns to feed a small village. Elena goes to her room, grabs the duvet and cushions from the bed, and develops a makeshift cocoon for the four of them to curl up together on the living room floor. 

The food arrives, and Tseng’s pancakes are greasy and limp. When he bites into them, however, he thinks it might possibly be the best food he’s ever eaten. His hash brown is close to a religious experience, and Rude laughs at Tseng's enthusiasm, asks him if his hash brown face bears any similarity to his orgasm face. 

'You should be so lucky,' Tseng says, and Rude grins, says _that's our lad back_ with an affection so sincere it makes Tseng smile down into his lap.

Whilst Elena is up and dressed, the others are not and have zero intention of moving for the rest of the day. Elena concedes productivity for the day and slumps back into the blankets with everyone, logs into the Netflix account that she pays for and Reno filches from. A selection of suitable trash television is in order; while Rude wants _Kitchen Nightmares,_ Reno wants _Don't Tell The Bride_ , and Tseng gets the deciding vote. Frankly, Tseng wants to sleep more than watch either, but picks _Kitchen Nightmares_ simply to wind Reno up. 

Tseng leans against Rude, his body a suitably warm and soft pillow, and Elena pats Tseng's head, offers to make him another coffee. There, with his closest friends in the world, hungover and listening to Gordon Ramsay swear at them through the TV, Tseng feels very close to content. Nobody will mind if he closes his eyes for a little while, Rude is so cosy and the blanket feels so nice -

'Oi! T! Your phone's going again!'

Tseng wakes up in the cushions, the room significantly darker than it was when he fell asleep. _What time is it?_ Tseng thinks, disorientated, but doesn't have to wonder for long as Reno throws Tseng's phone directly at his head. Five-thirty already, _Christ_ , he's slept most of the afternoon. Tseng fumbles with his phone, sleepy-eyed, wonders what the fuck the fuss is about.

Tseng flicks through his notifications, feels a sense of dread. There are several missed calls from Rufus, as well as several messages. Tseng opens the messages first, his sleep-clumsy hands scrolling through them heavily.

Tseng sees the latest one, and audibly gasps.

'What's up?' Elena asks, shuffles closer to Tseng when he doesn't respond, puts her head on his shoulder and looks down at the screen. 

'You're fucking joking,' she says.

Tseng's latest message is a photo of Rufus, a selfie of him with round limestone arches in the background, a tall metal waterfall to his right.

'But that's -'

'The train station,' Tseng finishes for her, voice slow with disbelief. _'Sheffield_ train station.'

'He's here?' Elena says, eyebrows raised. 'What the fuck?' 

'Who?' asks Rude.

'Rufus fucking Shinra, that's who!' Elena yells.

'What the fuck?' 

'That's what I said!'

'Oi, Reno!' Rude shouts to the other room. 'You won't bloody believe who's in town!'

'Who?' asks Reno, muffled through the wall.

'Rufus fucking Shinra!'

Reno appears through the living room door at the speed of light.

'What the fuck?'

'That's what _I_ said!' Elena and Rude say in indignant unison.

The three of them are suddenly silent, looking over at Tseng, hunched over his phone. Tseng's hair is in his eyes, shoulders tense, positively caving in on himself.

'Tseng,' Elena says softly. 'What're you thinking?'

Tseng runs tired hands through his hair, face taut.

'I don't know,' Tseng says. 'I can't just - _leave_ him there.'

'He got himself here, he can get himself back,' Reno mutters. 'He upsets you again, I'll break his fuckin' _legs_ -'

'Reno,' Rude says kindly but seriously, which is the universal indicator that it's time to _stop_. 'Tseng. What do you _want_ to do?'

Tseng feels the answer in his chest - feels it, doesn't have to think it.

'I want to see him,' Tseng says.

'Then it's decided,' says Rude firmly, cuts off Reno's protests with a simple fold of his arms. 'Let's see what he has to say for himself.'

Tseng brushes sleep from his eyes, feels his pulse quicken in his chest, in his hands. Rufus, in Sheffield, _here_ in his city, tangibly, unbearably close. On his phone he writes to Rufus, hands feverish.

_I'm coming._

\--

Tseng's hands are shaking as he positively runs from Elena's halls at Hallam to the station, hair tied back quickly, wearing mussed clothes and too much body spray to mask the tinge of vomit. Elena follows him, with Reno and Rude not far behind; as much as Tseng is flattered by their company, he's concerned about Reno ending up with a hefty lawsuit from the Shinra family if his threats to break Rufus' legs bear fruit.

They walk briskly down the hill to the station, the sharp silver angles of the waterfall in sight. Tseng scours the horizon for a figure in white, spots a familiar man by the station entrance. Tseng reaches the fountain, and stops, feels his heart banging in his ears.

He turns around to face the others.

 _'Please_ wait here,' Tseng says weakly, looking at Reno and Elena positively snarling, ready to sink their teeth into the only man to make Tseng cry. 'Rude -'

'I got it,' Rude says calmly, places his strong arms around Reno and Elena's shoulders, forcibly sitting them down on the wall. 'Go get your man.'

Tseng legs it across the plaza before they can object. He swerves through beeping cabs at the taxi rank, almost trips over the curb as he sees Rufus up close, now, can see him pouting and smoking with a Starbucks in his hand.

Tseng feels his heart swell several sizes, seeing Rufus in the flesh. If his mind feels anxious about seeing Rufus again, his body doesn't; simply gives him that giddy rush of serotonin he's used to, makes his chest ache with a familiar desire. Tseng walks tentatively towards Rufus in the crowd, is only a few feet away when Rufus spots him, blue eyes reaching through the sea of commuters to meet Tseng's gaze.

Finally, Rufus is within touching distance, and Tseng walks shyly towards him, resisting the urge to pull him close. Tseng tries his best not to notice several people craning their heads in faint recognition, looking at Rufus; swallows the anxiety it brings. If Tseng chickens out now, there's nothing to save.

There is a silence. Rufus looks up at Tseng, takes a drag of his cigarette.

'I know you're not one for grand gestures,' Rufus says quietly. 'But I couldn't resist.'

Tseng exhales a breath he didn't realise he was holding, shaky and loud.

'Rufus,' Tseng says, tries to keep his voice steady. 'What are you doing here?'

'I wanted to see where you live,' Rufus says plainly, finishes his drink. 'Besides, I thought you'd be pleased. Me branching outside the Home Counties, and all.'

Tseng smiles quietly.

'Rufus Shinra discovers life outside the M25,' Tseng teases, his heart not quite in it. 'Alert the media.'

'Oh _don't_ ,' Rufus says, tiredly. 'Already had about five people ask me for a photo while I've been here.'

'No rest for the wicked,' Tseng says. The light-hearted teasing is easy, flows between them like normal, but it feels hollow, skirting round an emotional sinkhole neither of them want to touch.

Tseng takes a breath.

'I'm pleased to see you,' Tseng says. 'I am, genuinely, and I'm -'

'I'm sorry,' Rufus says too, more quickly, and Tseng looks taken aback.

'What?'

'You _heard_ ,' Rufus says, smiling quietly. 'I'm sorry. The radio silence from you gave me some time to think.'

Tseng looks up at him, quietly moved.

'What did you think about?'

'About how you were right, infuriatingly,' Rufus says, plainly. 'I don't listen to you. I throw things at you that I think you _should_ want.' 

Tseng nods in wordless awe, folds his hands.

'It's selfish of me,' Rufus says. 'And although it wounded me, you weren't wrong when you said it's how my father behaves. Throwing money and opportunity at people, and thinking that counts as love.'

Tseng winces, feels a stab of guilt.

'You're not -'

'Please, Tseng, I want to say this,' Rufus says sharply. 'I do recognise myself in him, and I don't want to be like that. I don't want to - to treat _you_ like that.'

Rufus brushes hair from his eyes, stubs his cigarette out under his shoe. He crosses his arms, and his face looks harsh in the dusk, eyes threatening to brim over.

'Because whether you like it or not, Tseng, you're very important to me,' Rufus says, his voice brittle. 'And perhaps I should be angrier with you, angry for ignoring me - but all I've been able to think about is how much I miss seeing you.'

Tseng feels his hands shake, his throat drying up.

'I missed you too,' Tseng says. 'So much. I was so embarrassed at how I'd hurt you, and every time I tried to reply it felt like I was going to fall apart, and I couldn't -'

'Tseng,' Rufus says quietly, closes the space between them, reaches for Tseng's tightly clasped hands. Rufus strokes his thumb against Tseng's wrist, smiles shakily as he leans forward to look at Tseng properly. 'Please don't fall apart.'

'I can't believe you're here,' Tseng positively splutters. 'How did you - _why_ did you -'

'Well, I'm sure you'd be the first to admit that you're emotionally incompetent,' Rufus teases, smirking. 'So I wanted to come and tell you how I feel, distance be damned. And you know how impatient I am once I've got an idea set in my head.'

Tseng nods, smiling.

'True,' he says. 'But I need to apologise for things too.'

Rufus clasps Tseng's hands tighter, furrows his brow.

'Like what?'

'The job, and all -'

'Oh, don't,' Rufus says, grimacing. 'That was a terrible idea.'

'It wasn't your brightest,' Tseng says kindly. 'But I shouldn't have said the things I did. I regretted them right after, and - I swear, Rufus, you _have_ to know - you're a hundred times better than your cunt of a dad.'

Rufus looks at the floor, looks at their hands, looks anywhere that isn't at Tseng. His lip quivers, and Rufus clears his throat loudly, looks up at Tseng with glassy eyes. 

'I think that's the nicest compliment I've ever gotten.'

'Plenty more where that came from,' Tseng says, light-hearted, squeezing Rufus' hands reassuringly. 'Like, you're the world's cutest Tory, or you're the only landlord who doesn't deserve the guillotine.'

'Ha ha,' Rufus says. 'And you're the only communist who doesn't deserve the gulag.'

'How gentlemanly,' Tseng says, tries to hide the quiver in his voice. 'Wouldn't have it any other way.'

'You don't suppose we could give this dating lark another go, do you?'

The question is so stupidly _Rufus_ that it makes Tseng laugh out loud, feels tension fall from his body like he's bloodletting.

'Yeah, I reckon we could,' Tseng says, smiling tightly, his voice threatening to crack. 'Might be alright.'

Rufus smiles so broadly it makes tears spring to his eyes. Tseng wraps his arms around Rufus, holds him tight enough to break but Rufus clings back, nestles in Tseng's chest as their breaths slow together, finally relaxing into each other.

'You smell _pungent_ ,' Rufus says, muffled against Tseng's shoulder. 'What is that, Lynx Africa?'

Tseng doubles up with laughter, Rufus snorting unceremoniously. 

'I take it back,' Tseng says, grinning. 'I don't want to date now.'

Rufus laughs, eyes red, and leans forward to kiss Tseng. Tseng kisses Rufus back, cradles his face and feels the tight coil of anxiety in his stomach finally uncurl. They kiss, and kiss again, in front of the yellow-brick station and the cabs and the water rushing from the fountains in the city Tseng calls home. The orchestra might not swell outside a place like Sheffield train station, but to Tseng, it's entirely perfect.

From across the plaza comes the sound of stomping, clapping and a very loud _waheyyyyy_ , so loud that it makes Rufus jump. Tseng shakes his head, laughing.

'Who on earth was that?'

'Those are the dickheads I call my friends,' Tseng says, drags an embarrassed hand through his hair. 'Guess you've won them over.'

Rufus raises his eyebrows, and waves tentatively over at Elena, Reno and Rude, who all give him a loud cheer in return. Rufus laughs, and even he turns a little red at the attention.

'Well, they certainly know I like applause,' Rufus says, teasing. 'Could be the start of a beautiful friendship.'

Tseng beams, holds Rufus' hand tightly.

'I'm so pleased you came,' Tseng says simply, hopes it conveys the depth of his feeling. Tseng feels shaky and joyous and overcome, and more importantly, he feels home. Everything in Cambridge had reminded him of Rufus, but Rufus in Sheffield has the possibility of something budding, something new.

Rufus smiles, drapes his arms round Tseng's neck, and Tseng moves in to kiss him again as if they're the last two people in Sheffield, or the world.

Tseng breaks apart with a soft smile on his face, rests his head delicately into Rufus' shoulder.

'So,' Rufus says, adjusts his hair. 'Where do we go now?'

Tseng smiles, takes Rufus' hand. 

'Well, we're only in the best city in the _world_ ,' Tseng says. 'Let me show you how we live.'

_fin_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it is a truth universally acknowledged that if you see your friend getting off with someone you have to _wahey_ very loudly to embarrass them, no i don't make the rules
> 
> i did not expect 'writing a final fantasy VII AU based off a pulp song' to appear on my 2020 bingo card but here we are!! this has been so much fun to write in all its ridiculousness, and has definitely allowed me to exorcise some of my complicated feelings about university. i am notoriously bad at committing to longer fics, and i would absolutely have lost steam with this if not for your incredibly kind and thoughtful comments, so thank you so much if yours is one of them!!
> 
> if you've read this and enjoyed it i am always posting nonsense about the turks over on [twitter dot com](http://twitter.com/turksontour), if you're on there please come and say hi! hope you all have a lovely day and as always, thank you for reading 
> 
> ♥️


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